-1  . 


^^' 


LI  BRARY 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
/^ecfivedJ)(^'^S]m^       ,  i8g     . 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  ^^ith  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


littp://www.arcliive.org/details/countrylivingcouOOIiamiricli 


Country  Living 


AND 


Country    Thinking 


BY 


GAIL    HAMILTON 


l^^}via^   ci  ^^<^^^^;j 


BOSTON 
TICKNOR    AND    FIELDS 


yX^  0?  THE 

'U»I7BRSIT7] 


1863 


Pa 


03r 


,^Vs 


4«^^71 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1862,  by 

TICKNOR    AND    FIELDS, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


THIRD     EDITION, 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS: 

Welch,   Bigelow,   and   Compant, 
Cambridge. 


MAW  p 


rS*    rk»  ^rrm  "^ ' 


OF  TSR 


UF 


REFACE, 


IVERSIT 


KNOW  that  I  can  bear  censure  ;  I 
think  I  could  enidure^  neglect  :  but 
there  is  one  thing  which  I  will  never 
forgive,  and  that  is,  any  encroach- 
ment upon  my  personality.  Whatever  an  au- 
thor puts  between  the  two  covers  of  his  book  is 
public  property  ;  whatever  of  himself  he  does 
not  put  there  is  his  private  property,  as  much 
as  if  he  had  never  written  a  word.  I  do  not 
say,  that  any  information  which  may  be  gath- 
ered, or  any  conjecture  which  may  be  hazarded, 
concerning  the  man  or  the  woman  who  stands 
behind  the  mask  of  the  author,  may  not  be  a 
lawful  theme  of  conversation,  if  people  are  in- 
terested enough  to  make  it  so  ;  but  the  ap- 
pearance of  any  such  information  or  conjecture 
in  any  public  print,  whether  in  the  form  of 
book-notice  or  news-item,  I  consider  an  unpar- 
donable impertinence. 

As  this  seems  to  me  a  matter  of  serious  im- 
portance  in   the  minor  moralities,  and  one   in 


iv  PREFACE. 

which  this  people  is  verily  guilty,  I  desire  to  be 
clearly  understood.  If  any  person  writes  a  book 
or  an  article,  and  prefixes  his  name,  he,  in  a 
manner,  makes  an  unconditional  surrender  of 
himself.  The  public  has  perhaps  the  shadow 
of  a  right  to  ascertain  and  announce  his  birth- 
place, his  residence,  his  wife,  the  color  of  his 
eyes,  the  length  of  his  beard,  the  precocity  of 
his  childhood,  the  college  at  which  he  was  grad- 
uated, the  hotel  in  which  he  is  spending  the 
summer  months,  and  similar  items  —  startling, 
if  true  —  which  are  so  dear  to  the  public.  But 
if  he  withholds  himself,  and  writes  under  the  sig- 
nature of  Apsby  Jones,  you,  my  dear  Public, 
have  no  right  or  title  to  him.  That  is  an  indi- 
cation that  he  wishes  to  remain  unknown.  You 
should  respect  his  reticence.  Though  you  may 
have  heard  from  your  brother-in-law  or  your 
gfandmother  that  Apsby  Jones  is  a  Mr.  Jona- 
than Jenkins  of  Kettleville,  refrain  scrupulously 
from  printing  that  report ;  for,  in  the  first  place, 
you  have  probably  been  misinformed,  —  Jona- 
than Jenkins  is  not  the  man  at  all,  and  is  made 
to  feel  extremely  uncomfortable  ;  and,  in  the 
second  place,  if  he  were  the  man,  it  would  be 
shamefully  impolite  in  you  to  rend  away  the  veil 
in  which  he  chose  to  drape  himself.  You  may 
criticise  his  book  to  the  top  of  your  bent,  but 
don't  meddle  with  him.  No  matter  if  he  was 
your  schoolmate,  no  matter  if  he  descended  from 


PREFACE.  V 

a  French  refugee,  no  matter  if  he  made  a  speech 
at  your  picnic  ;  you  be  quiet  about  it,  —  at  least 
till  he  is  dead.  Doubtless  he  was  very  glad  to 
have  his  book  published,  but  doubtless  he  has 
insurmountable  objections  to  being  published 
himself 

This  is  a  preface.  Public,  and  you  will  read- 
ily see  that  I  cannot  talk  as  freely  as  I  should 
like,  because  it  will  never  do  to  put  you  in  an 
ill-humor  at  the  beginning  ;  but  you  must  know, 
yourself,  that  you  are  very  much  given  to  ille- 
gal gossip.  You  have  a  cacoethes  ipnnte7zdi  The 
moment  you  get  hold,  by  fair  means  or  foul,  of 
the  outermost  fibre  of  the  shred  of  the  husk  of 
the  semblance  of  a  fact,  you  go  straightway  and 
put  it  in  the  newspapers.  You  are  not  so  much 
to  blame.  Your  fathers  did  it  before  you,  and 
I  don't  suppose  you  were  ever  told  that  it  was 
ill-bred  ;  but  it  is.  Please  not  do  it  again. 
Be  very  sure  to  know  whether  the  name  on  the 
title-page  is  a  pen-name  or  a  baptismal  name. 
If  it  is  the  former,  confine  your  remarks  to 
the  book  and  its  relations  ;  if  it  is  the  lat- 
ter —  you  cannot  do  better  than  follow  the 
same  course. 

I  most  eagerly  desire,  O  Public,  your  good 
opinion,  and  especially  your  friendly  feeling.  I 
shall  count  it  one  of  the  greatest  happinesses 
of  my  life  if  I  succeed  in  pleasing  you,  and  one 
of  the  greatest  misfortunes  if  I   do  not.      But 


vi  PREFACE. 

if  you  commit  this  sin  against  me,  I  will  never 
forgive  you  !  Or,  since  that  may  be  unscrip- 
tural,  I  will  forgive  you  just  enough  to  save 
my  own  soul,  but  not  enough  to  be  of  any  use 
to  you. 

G.  H. 


Contents. 

Page 

Moving 3 

The  Bank 21 

My  Garden 38 

Men  and  Women      ...               ...  80 

My  Birds 206 

Tommy 230 

Boston  and  Home  Again 246 

Brown-Bread  Cakes 277 

A  Complaint  of  Friends 285 

Dog-Days 311 

Summer  Gone       . 317 

Winter 335 

My  Flower-Bed 351 

Lights  among  the  Shadows  of  our  Civil  War  .  366 


lOUNTRY    J-vIVING 


AND 


Country  Thinking 


? 


'Shivbrsitt] 
Moving. 


AN  is  like  an  onion.  He  exists  in 
concentric  layers.  He  is  born  a  bulb, 
and  grows  by  external  accretions. 
The  number  and  character  of  his 
involutions  certify  to  his  culture  and  courtesy. 
Those  of  the  boor  are  few  and  coarse.  Those 
of  the  gentleman  are  numerous  and  fine.  But 
strip  off  the  scales  from  all,  and  you  come  to  the 
same  germ.  The  core  of  humanity  is  barbarism. 
Every  man  is  a  latent  savage. 

You  may  be  startled  and  shocked ;  but  I  am 
stating  fact,  not  theory.  I  announce  not  an  in- 
vention, but  a  discovery.  You  look  around  you, 
and  because  you  do  not  see  tomahawks  and  tat- 
tooing you  doubt  my  assertion.  But  your  obser- 
vation is  superficial.  You  have  not  penetrated 
into  the  secret  place  where  souls  abide.  You 
are  staring  only  at  the  outside  layer  of  your 
neighbors  :  just  peel  them,  and  see  what  you 
will   find. 


4  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

I  speak  from  the  highest  possible  authority,  — 
my  own  experience.  Representing  the  gentler 
half  of  humanity,  of  respectable  birth,  tolerable 
parts,  and  good  education,  as  tender-hearted  as 
most  women,  not  unfamiliar  w^itli  the  best  society, 
mingling,  to  some  extent,  with  those  who  under- 
stand and  practise  the  minor  moralities,  you  would 
at  once  infer  from  my  circumstances  that  I  was  a 
very  fair  specimen  of  the  better  class  of  Americans, 
—  and  so  I  am.  For  one  that  stands  higher  than 
I  in  the  moral,  social,  and  intellectual  scale,  you 
will  undoubtedly  find  ten  that  stand  lower.  Yet 
through  all  thege  layers  gleam  the  fiery  eyes  of 
my  savage.  I  thought  I  was  a  Christian.  I  have 
endeavored  to  do  my  duty  to  my  day  and  genera- 
tion ;  but  of  a  sudden  Christianity  and  civilization 
leave  me  in  the  lurch,  and  the  "  old  Adam " 
within  me  turns  out  to  be  just  such  a  fierce  Saxon 
pirate  as  hurtled  down  against  the  white  shores 
of  Britain  fifteen  hundred  years  ago. 

For  we  have  been  movinoj. 

People  who  live  in  cities  and  move  regularly 
every  year  from  one  good,  finished,  right-side-up 
house  to  another,  will  think  I  give  a  very  small 
reason  for  a  very  broad  fact ;  but  they  do  not 
know  what  they  are  talking  about.  They  have 
fallen  into  a  way  of  looking  upon  a  house  only  as 
an  exaggerated  trunk,  into  which  they  pack  them- 
selves annually  with  as  much  nonchalance  as  if 
it  were  only  their  preparation  for  a  summer  trip 


MOVING.  5 

to  the  sea-shore.  They  don't  strike  root  any- 
where. They  don't  have  to  tear  up  anytliing. 
A  man  comes  with  cart  and  horses.  There  is  a 
stir  in  the  one  house,  —  they  are  gone  ;  —  there  is 
a  stir  in  the  other  house,  —  they  are  bettled ;  and 
everything  is  wound  up  and  set  going  to  run  an- 
other year.  We  do  these  things  differently  in  the 
country.  We  don't  build  a  house  by  way  of  ex- 
periment, and  live  in  it  a  few  years,  then  tear  it 
down  and  build  another.  We  live  in  a  house  till 
it  cracks,  and  then  we  plaster  it  over ;  then  it 
totters,  and  we  prop  it  up ;  then  it  rocks,  and  we 
rope  it  down  ;  then  it  sprawls,  and  we  clamp  it ; 
then  it  crumbles,  and  we  have  a  new  underpinning, 
—  but  keep  living  in  it  all  the  time.  To  know  what 
moving  really  means,  you  must  move  from  just  such 
a  rickety-rackety  old  farm-house,  where  you  have 
clung  and  grown  like  a  fungus  ever  since  there  was 
anything  to  grow  ;  —  where  your  life  and  luggage 
have  crept  into  all  the  crevices  and  comers,  and 
every  wall  is  festooned  with  associations  thicker 
than  the  cobwebs,  though  the  cobwebs  are  pretty 
thick  ;  —  where  the  furniture  and  the  pictures  and 
the  knick-knacks  are  so  become  a  part  and  parcel 
of  the  house,  so  grown  with  it  and  into  it,  that 
you  do  not  know  they  are  chiefly  rubbish  till  you 
begin  to  move  them,  and  they  fall  to  pieces,  and 
don't  know  it  then,  but  persist  in  packing  them 
up  and  carrying  them  away  for  the  sake  of  auld 
lang  syne,  till,  set  up  again  in  your  new  abode, 


6  COUNTRY  LIVING, 

you  suddenly  find  that  their  sacredness  is  gone, 
their  dignity  has  degraded  into  dinginess,  and  the 
faded,  patched  chintz  sofa,  that  was  not  only  com- 
fortable, but  respectable,  in  the  old  wainscoted  sit- 
ting-room, has  suddenly  turned  into  "  an  object," 
when  lang  syne  goes  by  the  board,  and  the  heir- 
loom is  incontinently  set  adrift.  Undertake  to 
move  from  this  tumble-down  old  house,  strewn 
thick  with  the  debris  of  many  generations,  into  a 
tumble-up,  peaky,  perky,  plastery,  shingly,  stary 
new  one,  that  is  not  half  finished,  and  never  will 
be,  and  good  enough  for  it,  and  you  will  perhaps 
comprehend  how  it  is  that  I  find  a  great  crack 
in  my  life.  On  the  further  side  are  prosperity, 
science,  literature,  philosophy,  religion,  society,  all 
the  refinements,  and  amenities,  and  benevolences, 
and  purities  of  life,  —  in  short,  all  the  arts  of 
peace,  and  civilization,  and  Christianity,  —  and  on 

this  side moving.     You  will  also  understand 

why  that  one  word  comprises,  to  my  thinking,  all 
the  discomforts  short  of  absolute  physical  torture 
that  can  be  condensed  into  the  human  lot.  Con- 
densed, did  I  say  ?  If  it  were  a  condensed  agony, 
I  could  endure  it.  One  great,  stunning,  over- 
powering blow  is  undoubtedly  terrible,  but  you 
rally  all  your  fortitude  to  meet  and  resist  it,  and 
when  it  is  over,  it  is  over,  and  the  recuperative 
forces  go  to  work  ;  but  a  trouble  that  worries  and 
bafiles  and  pricks  and  rasps  you,  that  penetrates 
into   all   the   ramifications  of  your  life,   that  fills 


MOVING.  7 

you  with  profound  disgust,  and  fires  you  with 
irrepressible  fury,  and  makes  of  you  an  IshmaeHte 
indeed,  with  your  hand  against  every  man,  and 
every  man's  hand  against  you,  —  ah  !  that  is  the 
experimentum  crucis. 

Such  is  moving,  in  the  country,  —  not  an  act, 
but  a  process,  —  not  a  volition,  but  a  fermentation. 

We  will  say  that  the  first  of  September  Is  the 
time  appointed  for  the  transit.  The  day  ap- 
proaches. It  is  the  twenty-ninth  of  August.  I 
prepare  to  take  hold  of  the  m^ter  In  earnest.  I 
am  nipped  In  the  bud  by  learning  that  the  woman 
who  was  to  help  about  the  carpets  cannot  come, 
because  her  baby  Is  taken  with  the  croup.  I 
have  not  a  doubt  of  it.  I  never  knew  a  baby 
yet  that  did  not  go  and  have  the  croup,  or  the 
colic,  or  the  cholera  infantum,  just  when  It  was 
imperatively  necessary  that  it  should  not  have 
them.  But  there  Is  no  help  for  it.  I  shudder, 
and  bravely  gird  myself  for  the  work.  I  tug  at 
the  heavy,  bulky,  unwieldy  carpets,  and  am  cov- 
ered with  dust  and  abomination.  I  think  carpets 
are  the  most  untidy,  unwholesome  nuisances  in 
the  whole  world.  It  Is  impossible  to  be  clean 
with  them  under  your  feet.  You  may  sweep  your 
carpet  twenty  times,  and  raise  a  dust  on  the 
twenty-first.  I  am  sure  I  heard  long  ago  of  some 
new  fashion  that  was  to  be  introduced,  —  some 
Italian  style,  tiles,  or  mosaic-work,  or  something 
of  the    sort.      I    should   welcome    anything    that 


8  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

would  dispense  with  these  vile  rags.  I  sigh  over 
the  good  old  sanded  floors  that  our  grandmothers 
rejoiced  in,  —  and  so,  apotlieosizing  the  past  and 
anathematizing  the  present,  I  pull  away,  and  the 
tacks  tear  my  fingers,  and  the  hammer  slips  and 
lets  me  back  with  a  jerk,  and  the  dust  fills  my 
hair  and  nose  and  eyes  and  mouth  and  lungs,  and 
my  hands  grow  red  and  coarse  and  ragged  and 
sore  and  begrimed,  and  I  pull  and  choke  and 
cough  and  strangle  and  pull. 

So  the  earpets  ^11  come  up,  and  the  curtains 
all  come  down.  The  bureaus  march  out  of  the 
chamber-windows  and  dance  on  a  tight-rope  down 
into  the  yard  below.  The  chairs  are  set  at  "  heads 
and  points."  The  clothes  are  packed  into  the 
trunks.  The  flour  and  meal  and  sugar,  all  the 
wholesale  edibles,  are  carted  down  to  the  new 
house  and  stored.  The  forks  are  wrapped  up, 
and  we  eat  with  our  fingers,  and  have  nothing 
to  eat  at  that.  Then  we  are  informed  that  the 
new  house  will  not  be  ready  short  of  two  weeks 
at  least.  Unavoidable  delays.  The  plasterers 
were  hindered  ;  the  painters  misunderstood  orders  ; 
the  paperers  have  defalcated,  and  the  universe 
generally  comes  to  a  pause.  It  is  no  matter  in 
what  faith  I  was  nurtured,  I  am  now  a  believer 
in  total  depravity.  Contractors  have  no  con- 
science ;  masons  are  not  men  of  their  word  ;  car- 
penters are  tricky ;  all  manner  of  cunning  work- 
men are  bruised  reeds.     But  there  is  nothing  to 


MOVING.  a 

do  but  submit  and  make  the  best  of  it,  —  a  hor- 
rible kind  of  mechanism.  We  go  forthwith  into  a 
chrysahs  state  for  two  weeks.  The  only  sign  of 
life  is  an  occasional  lurch  towards  the  new  house, 
just  sufficient-  to  keep  up  the  circulation.  One 
day  I  dreamily  carry  down  a  basket  of  wine- 
glasses. At  another  time  I  listlessly  stuff  all  my 
slippers  into  a  huge  pitcher,  and  take  up  the  line 
of  march.  Again  a  bucket  is  filled  with  tea-cups, 
or  I  shoulder  the  fire-shovel.  The  two  weeks 
drag  themselves  away,  and  the  cry  is  still,  "  Un- 
finished ! "  To  prevent  petrifying  into  a  fossil 
remain,  or  relapsing  into  primitive  barbarism,  or 
degenerating  into  a  dormouse,  I  rouse  my  energies 
and  determine  to  put  my  own  shoulder  to  the 
wheel  and  see  if  something  cannot  be  accom- 
plished.  I  rise  early  in  the  morning  and  walk 
to  Dan,  to  hire  a  painter  who  is  possessed  of 
"  gumption,'*  *'  faculty."  Arrived  in  Dan,  I  am 
told  he  is  in  Beersheba.  Nothing  daunted,  I  take 
a  short  cut  across  the  fields  to  Beersheba,  bearding 
manifold  dangers  from  rickety  stone-walls,  strong 
enough  to  keep  women  in,  but  not  strong  enough 
to  keep  bears,  bulls,  and  other  wild  beasts  out,  — 
toppling  enough  to  play  the  mischief  with  dra- 
peries, but  not  toppling  enough  to  topple  over 
when  urgently  pressed  to  do  so.  But  I  secure 
my  man,  and  remember  no  more  my  sorrow  of 
bulls  and  stones  for  joy  at  my  success.  From 
Beersheba  I  proceed  to  Padan-aram  to  buy  seven 
1* 


10  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

pounds  of  flour,  thence  to  Galilee  of  the  Gentiles 
for  a  pound  of  cheese,  thence  to  the  land  of  Uz 
for  smoked  halibut,  thence  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth  for  a  lemon  to  make  life  tolerable,  —  and 
the  days  hobble  on.  * 

"  The  flying  gold  of  the  ruined  woodlands  drives 
through  the  air,"  the  signal  is  given,  and  there 
is  no  longer  quiet  on  the  Potomac.  The  unnat- 
ural calm  gives  v^ay  to  an  unearthly  din.  Once 
more  I  bring  myself  to  bear  on  the  furniture  and 
the  trumpery,  and  there  is  a  small  household 
wliirlpool.  All  that  went  before  "pales  its  in- 
effectual fires."  Now  comes  the  strain  upon  my 
temper,  and  my  temper  bends,  and  quivers,  and 
creaks,  and  cracks.  Ithuriel  touches  me  with  his 
spear ;  all  the  integuments  of  my  conventional, 
artificial,  and  acquired  gentleness  peel  off",  and  I 
stand  revealed  a  savage.  Everything  around  me 
sloughs  off  its  usual  habitude  and  becomes  savage. 
Looking-glasses  are  shivered  by  the  dozen.  A  bit 
is  nicked  out  of  the  best  China  sugar-bowl.  A 
pin  gets  under  the  matting  that  is  wrapped  around 
the  centre-table,  and  jags  horrible  hieroglyphics 
over  the  whole  polished  surface.  The  bookcase, 
that  we  are  trying  to  move,  tilts,  and  trembles, 
and  goes  over,  and  the  old  house  through  all  her 
frame  gives  signs  of  woe.  A  crash  detonate  on 
the  stairs  brings  me  up  from  the  depths  of  the 
closet  where  I  am  burrowing.  I  remember  seeing 
Halicarnassus  disappear  a  moment  ago  with   my 


MOVING.  ir 

lovely  and  beloved  marble  Hebe  in  his  arms.  I 
rush  rampant  to  the  upper  landing  in  time  to  see 
him  couchant  on  the  lower.  "  I  have  broken  my 
leg,"  roars  Halicarnassus,  as  if  I  cared  for  his  leg. 
A  fractured  leg  is  easily  mended  ;  but  who  shall 
restore  me  the  nose  of  my  nymph,  marred  into 
irremediable  deformity  and  dishonor  I 

Occasionally  a  gleam  of  sunshine  shoots  athwart 
the  darkness  to  keep  me  back  from  rash  deeds. 
Behind  the  sideboard  I  find  a  little  cross  of  dark, 
bright  hair,  and  gold  and  pearls,  that  I  lost  two 
years  ago  and  would  not  be  comforted.  O  happy 
days  woven  in  with  the  dark,  bright  hair !  O 
golden,  pearly  days,  come  back  to  me  again  ! 
"  Never  mind  your  gewgaws,"  interposes  real  life  ; 
"  what  is  to  be  done  with  the  things  in  this 
drawer  ?  "  Lying  atop  of  a  heap  of  old  papers 
in  the  front-yard  waiting  the  match  that  is  to 
glorify  them  into  flame,  I  find  a  letter  that  mys- 
teriously disappeared  long  since,  and  caused  me 
infinite  alarm  lest  indelicate  eyes  might  see  it,  and 
indelicate  hands  make  ignoble  use  of  its  honest 
and  honorable  meaning.  I  learn  also  sundry  new 
and  interestino;  facts  in  mechanics.  I  become 
acquainted  for  the  first  time  with  the  modus  ojm- 
randi  of  "roller-cloths."  I  n^ver  understood  be- 
fore how  the  roller  got  inside  the  towel.  It  was 
one  of  those  gentle  domestic  mysteries  that  repel 
even  while  they  invite  investigation.  I  shall  not 
give  the  result  of  my  discovery  to  the  public.     If 


12  COUNTRY  LIVING.  ■ 

you  wish  very  much  to  find  out,  you  can  move,  as 
I  did. 

But  the  rifts  of  sunshine  disappear.  The  clouds 
draw  to2;ether  and  close  in.  The  savage  walks 
abroad  once  more,  and  I  go  to  bed  tired  of  life. 

I  have  scarcely  fallen  asleep,  when  I  am  reluc- 
tantly, by  short  and  difficult  stages,  awakened. 
A  rumbling,  grating,  strident  noise  first  confuses, 
then  startles  me.  Is  it  robbers  ?  Is  it  an  earth- 
quake? Is  it  the  coming  of  fate?  I  lie  rigid, 
bathed  in  a  cold  perspiration.  I  hear  the  tread  of 
banditti  on  the  moaning  stairs.  I  see  the  flutter 
of  ghostly  robes  by  the  uncurtained  windows.  A 
chill,  uncanny  air  rushes  in  and  grips  at  my  damp 
hair.  I  am  nerved  by  the  extremity  of  my  terror. 
I  will  die  of  anything  but  fright.  I  jerk  off  the 
bedclothes,  convulse  into  an  upright  posture,  and 
glare  into  the  darkness.  Nothing.  I  rise  softly, 
creep  cautiously  and  swiftly  over  the  floor,  that 
always  creaked,  but  now  thunders  at  every  footfall. 
A  light  gleams  through  the  open  door  of  the  op- 
posite room  whence  the  sound  issues.  A  famihar 
voice  utters  an  exclamation  which  I  recognize.  It 
is  Halicarnassus,  the  unprincipled  scoundrel,  who 
is  uncording  a  bed,  dragging  remorselessly  through 
innumerable  holes  the  long  rope  whose  doleful  wail 
came  near  giving  me  an  epilepsy.  My  savage 
lets  loose  the  dogs  of  war.  Halicarnassus  would 
fain  defend  himself  by  declaring  that  it  is  morning. 
I  indignantly  deny  it.      He  produces  his  watch. 


MOVING.  13 

A  fig  for  his  watch  !  I  stake  my  consciousness 
against  twenty  watches,  and  go  to  bed  again ;  but 
Sleep,  angry  goddess,  once  repulsed,  returns  no 
more.  The  dawn  comes  up  the  sky,  and  confirms 
the  scorned  watch.  The  golden  daggers  of  the 
morning  prick  in  under  my  eyelids,  and  Hali- 
carnassus  introduces  himself  upon  the  scene  once 
more,  to  announce,  that,  if  I  don't  wish  to  be 
corded  up  myself,  I  must  abdicate  that  bed.  The 
threat  does  not  terrify  me.  Indeed,  nothing  at  the 
moment  seems  more  inviting  than  to  be  corded  up 
and  let  alone ;  but  duty  still  binds  me  to  life,  and, 
assuring  Halicarnassus  that  the  just  law  will  do 
that  service  for  him,  if  he  does  not  mend  his  ways, 
I  slowly  emerge  again  into  the  world,  —  the 
dreary,  chaotic  world,  —  the  world  that  is  never 
at  rest. 

And  there  is  hurrying  to  and  fro,  and  a  clang 
of  many  voices,  and  the  clatter  of  much  crockery, 
and  a  liftino;  and  balancino;  and  batterino;  against 
walls,  and  curving  around  corners,  and  sundry 
contusions,  and  a  great  waste  of  expletives,  and  a 
loading  of  wagons,  and  a  driving  of  patient  oxen 
back  and  forth  with  me  generally  on  the  top  of  the 
load,  steadying  a  basket  of  eggs  with  one  foot, 
keeping  a  tin  can  of  something  from  upsetting 
with  the  other,  and  both  arms  stretched  around  a 
very  big  and  very  square  picture-frame  that  knocks 
against  my  nose  or  my  chin  every  time  the  cart 
goes  over  a  stone  or  drops  into  a  rut,  and  the  wind 

'^•^   OP  THR 

UKIVERSITrl 


14  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

threatening  to  blow  my  hat  off,  and  blowing  it  off, 
and  my  "back-hair"  tumbling  down,  —  and  the 
old  house  is  at  last  despoiled.  The  rooms  stand 
bare  and  brown  and  desolate.  The  sun,  a  hand- 
breadth  above  the  horizon,  pours  in  through  the 
unblinking  windows.  The  last  load  is  gone.  The 
last  man  has  departed.  I  am  left  alone  to  lock  up 
the  house  and  walk  over  the  hill  to  the  new  home. 
Then,  for  the  first  time,  I  remember  that  I  am 
leaving.  As  I  pass  through  the  door  of  my  own 
room,  not  regretfully,  I  turn.  I  look  up  and  down 
and  through  and  through  the  place  where  I  shall 
never  rest  again,  and  I  rejoice  that  it  is  so.  As  I 
stand  there,  with  the  red,  solid  sunshine  lying  on 
the  floor,  lying  on  the  walls,  unfamiliar  in  its  new 
profusion,  the  silence  becomes  audible.  In  the 
still  October  evening  there  is  an  effort  in  the  air. 
The  dumb  house  is  striving  to  find  a  voice.     I  feel 

o 

the  strufjorle  of  its  insensate  frame.     The  old  tim- 
ers 

bers  quiver  with  the  unusual  strain.  The  strong, 
blind,  vegetable  energy  agonizes  to  find  expression, 
and,  wrestling  like  a  pinioned  giant,  the  soul  of 
matter  throws  off  the  weight  of  its  superincumbent 
inertia.  Slowly,  gently,  most  sorrowfully  through 
the  golden  air  comes  a  voice  that  is  somewhat  a 
wail,  yet  not  untuned  by  love.  Inarticulate  at 
first,  I  catch  only  the  low  mournfulness ;  but  it 
clears,  it  concentrates,  it  murmurs  into  cadence,  it 
syllables  into  intelligence,  and  thus  the  old  house 
speaks :  — 


MOVING.  15 

"  Child,  my  child,  forward  to  depart,  stay  for 
one  moment  your  eager, feet.  Put  off  from  your 
brow  the  crown  which  the  sunset  has  woven,  and 
linger  yet  a  little  longer  in  the  shadow  which  en- 
shrouds me  forever.  I  remember,  in  this  parting 
hour,  the  day  of  days  which  the  tremulous  years 
bore  in  their  bosom,  —  a  da}''  crimson  with  the 
woodbine's  happy  flush,  and  glowing  with  the 
maple's  gold.  On  that  day  a  tender,  tiny  life 
came  down,  and  stately  Silence  fled  before  the 
pelting  of  baby-laughter.  Faint  memories  of  far- 
off  olden  time  were  softly  stirred.  Blindly  thrilled 
through  all  my  frame  a  vague,  dim  sense  of  swell- 
ing buds  and  singing-birds  and  summer-gales, — 
of  the  purple  beauty  of  violets,  the  smells  of  fra- 
grant earth,  and  the  sweetness  of  summer  dews 
and  darks.  Many  a  harvest-moon  since  then  has 
filled  her  yellow  horn,  and  queenly  Junes  crowned 
with  roses  have  paled  before  the  sternness  of  De- 
cembers. But  Decembers  and  Junes  alike  bore 
royal  gifts  to  you,  —  gifts  to  the  busy  brain  and 
the  awakening  heart.  In  dell  and  copse  and 
meadow  and  gay  green-wood  you  drank .  great 
draughts  of  life.  Yet,  even  as  I  watched,  your 
eyes  grew  wistful.  Your  lips  framed  questions  for 
which  the  Springs  found  no  reply,  and  the  sacred 
mystery  of  living  brought  its  sweet,  uncertain  pain. 
Then  you  went  away,  and  a  shadow  fell.  A  gleam 
passed  out  of  the  sunshine  and  a  note  from  the 
robin's  song.     The  knights   that  pranced  on  the 


16  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

household  hearth  grew  faint  and  still,  and  died  for 
want  of  young  eyes  to  oiark  their  splendor.  But 
when  your  feet,  ever  and  anon,  turned  homeward, 
they  used  a  firmer  step,  and  I  knew,  that,  though 
the  path  might  be  rough,  you  trod  it  bravely.  I 
saw  that  you  had  learned  how  doing  is  a  nobler 
thing  than  dreaming,  yet  kept  the  holy  fire  burn- 
ing in  the  holy  place.  But  now  you  go,  and  there 
will  be  no  return.  The  stars  are  faded  from  the 
sky.  The  leaves  writhe  on  the  greensward.  The 
breezes  wail  a  dirge.  The  summer  rain  is  pallid 
like  winter  snow.  And  —  O  bitterest  cup  of  all! 
—  the  golden  memories  of  the  past  have  vanished 
from  your  heart.  I  totter  down  to  the  grave, 
while  you  go  on  from  strength  to  strength.  The 
Junes  that  gave  you  life  brought  death  to  me, 
and  you  sorrow  not.  O  child  of  my  tender  care, 
look  not  so  coldly  on  my  pain !  Breathe  one 
sigh  of  regret,  drop  one  tear  of  pity,  before  we 
part!" 

The  mournful  murmur  ceased.  I  am  not  ada- 
mant. My  savage  crouched  out  of  sight  among 
the  underbrush.  I  think  something  stirred  in  the 
back  of  my  eyes.  There  was  even  a  suspicion  of 
dampness  in  front.  I  thrust  my  hand  in  my 
pocket  to  have  my  handkerchief  ready  in  case  of  a 
catastrophe.  It  was  an  unfortunate  proceeding. 
My  pocket  was  crammed  full.  I  had  to  push  my 
fingers  through  all  manner  of  rubbish,  to  get  at 
the  required  article,  and  when  I  got  hold  of  it,  I 


MOVING.  17 

had  to  pull  with  all  my  might  to  get  it  out,  and 
when  it  did  come,  out  with  it  came  a  tin  box  of 
mustard-seed,  a  round  wooden  box  of  tooth-pow- 
der, a  ball  of  twine,  a  paper  of  picture-books,  and 
a  pair  of  gloves.  Of  course,  the  covers  of  both 
the  boxes  came  off.  The  seed  scattered  over  the 
floor.  The  tooth-powder  puffed  a  white  cloud  into 
my  face.  The  ball  of  twine  unrolled  and  trundled 
to  the  other  side  of  the  room.  I  gathered  up  what 
I  could,  but,  by  the  time  order  was  restored  and 
my  handkerchief  ready  for  use,  I  had  no  use  foi* 
it.  The  stirring  in  the  back  of  my  eyes  had 
stopped.  The  dewiness  had  disappeared.  My 
savage  sprang  out  from  the  underbrush  and  bran- 
dished his  tomahawk.  And  to  the  old  house  I 
made  answer  as  a  Bushman  of  Caffraria  might,  or 
a  Sioux  of  the  Prae-Pilgrimic  Age :  — 

"  Old  House,  hush  up !  Why  do  you  talk 
stuflF?  '  Golden  memories  '  indeed!  To  hear  you, 
one  might  suppose  you  were  an  ivied  castle  on  the 
Rhine,  and  I  a  fair-haired  princess,  cradled  in  the 
depths  of  regal  luxury,  feeding  on  the  blossoms  of 
a  thousand  generations,  and  heroic  from  inborn 
royalty.  '  Tender  care  ' !  Did  you  not  wake  me 
in  the  middle  of  the  night,  last  summer,  by  trick- 
ling down  water  on  my  face  from  a  passing 
shower?  and  did  I  not  have  to  get  up  at  that 
unearthly  hour  to  move  the  bed,  and  step  splash 
into  a  puddle,  and  come  very  near  being  floated 
away  ?     Did  not  the  water  drip,  drip,  drip  upon 


18  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

my  writing-desk,  and  soak  the  leather,  and  swell 
the  wood,  and  stain  the  ribbon,  and  spoil  the  paper 
inside,  and  all  because  you  were  treacherous  at 
the  roof  and  let  it  ?  Have  you  not  made  a  perfect 
rattery  of  yourself,  yawning  at  every  possible  chink 
and  crumbling  at  the  underpinning,  and  keeping 
me  awake  night  after  night  by  the  tramp  of  a 
whole  brigade  of  the  Grand  Army  that  slaughtered 
Bishop  Hatto  ?  Whenever  a  breeze  comes  along 
stout  enough  to  make  an  aspen-leaf  tremble,  don't 
you  immediately  go  into  hysterics,  and  rock,  and 
creak,  and  groan,  as  if  you  were  the  shell  of  an 
earthquake  ?  Don't  you  shrivel  at  every  window 
to  let  in  the  northeasters  and  all  the  snow-storms 
that  walk  abroad  ?  Whenever  a  needle,  or  a  pen- 
cil, or  a  penny  drops,  don't  you  open  somewhere 
and  take  it  in  ?  '  Golden  memories  ' !  Leaden 
memories !  Wooden  memories  !  Mudden  mem- 
ories ! " 

My  savage  gave  a  war-whoop.  I  turned  scorn- 
fully. I  swept  down  the  staircase.  I  banged  the 
front-door.  I  locked  it  with  an  accent,  and 
marched  up  the  hill.  A  soft  sighing  breathed  past 
me.  I  knew  it  was  the  old  house  mourning  for 
her  departing  child.  The  sun  had  disappeared, 
but  the  western  sky  was  jubilant  in  purple  and 
gold.  The  cool  evening  calmed  me.  The  echoes 
of  the  war-whoop  vibrated  almost  tenderly  along 
the  hushed  hill-side.  I  paused  on  the  summit  of 
the  hill  and  looked   back.     Down  in  the   valley 


MOVING.  19 

stood  the  sorrowful  house,  tasting  the  first  bitter- 
ness of  perpetual  desolation.  The  maples  and  the 
oaks  and  the  beech-trees  hung  out  their  flaming 
banners.  The  pond  lay  dark  in  the  shadow  of 
the  circling  hills.  The  years  called  to  me, — the 
happy,  sun-ripe  years  that  I  had  left  tangled  in 
the  apple-blossoms,  and  moaning  among  the  pines, 
and  tinkling  in  the  brook,  and  floating  in  the  cups 
of  the  water-lilies.  They  looked  up  at  me  from 
the  orchard,  dark  and  cool.  They  thrilled  across 
from  the  hill-tops,  glowing  still  with  the  glowing 
sky.  I  heard  their  voice  by  the  lilac-bush.  They 
smiled  at  me  under  the  peach-trees,  and  where 
the  blackberries  had  ripened  against  the  southern 
wall.  I  felt  them  once  more  in  t|ie  clover-smells 
and  the  new-mown  hay.  They  swayed  again  in 
the  silken  tassels  of  the  crisp,  rustling  corn.  They 
hummed  with  the  bees  in  the  garden-borders. 
They  sang  with  the  robins  in  the  cherry-trees, 
and  their  tone  was  tender  and  passing  sweet. 
They  besought  me  not  to  cast  away  their  memory, 
for  despite  of  the  black-browed  troop  whose  vile 
and  sombre  robes  had  mingled  in  with  their  silver 
garments.  They  prayed  me  to  forget,  but  not  all. 
They  minded  me  of  the  sweet  counsel  we  had 
taken  together,  when  summer  came  over  the  hills, 
and  walked  by  the  water-courses.  They  bade  me 
remember  the  good  tidings  of  great  joy  which  they 
had  brought  me  when  my  eyes  were  dim  with 
unavailing  tears.     My  lips  trembled  to  their  call. 


20 


COUNTRY  LIVING. 


The  war-whoop  chanted  itself  into  a  vesper.     A 
happy  calm    lifted   from  my  heart  and  quivered 
out  over  the  valley,  and  a  comfort  set- 
tled  on   the    sad   old   house,  as    I 
stretched  forth  my  hands,  and 
from    my    inmost    soul 
breathed    down    a 
Benedicite  1 


':sm:0«^ss 


The  Bank. 


E  had  much  ado  to  get  it,  hut  it  was 
lovely  when  it  was  done.  The  glory 
of  it  belongs  to  me.  Halicarnassus,  I 
regret  to  say,  to  many  amiable  quali- 
ties does  not  add  executive  and  comprehensive  en- 
ergy. He  occasionally  develops  very  satisfactorily 
in  some  one  direction,  but  I  have  yet  to  see  him 
become  complete  master  of  any  situation.  He 
does  one  thing,  but  he  leaves  twenty  undone.  So 
it  was  in  keeping  with  his  character  to  hibernate 
on  the  top  of  a  gravel-heap.  When  I  suggested, 
in  the  fall,  that  the  gravel-heap  be  immediately 
graded  and  turfed,  he  replied  that  there  were  too 
many  things  which  must  be  done  before  winter  set 
in.  When  winter  had  set  in,  and  the  things  were 
all  done,  and  I  repeated  my  suggestion,  there  was 
no  turf  to  be  had,  —  nothing  but  snow  and  ice. 
When  the  spring  sun  came  and  drank  up  the 
snow,  and  the  turf  sprouted  and  thickened  and 
matted,  and  I  spoke  of  the  bank,  everybody,  ac- 
cording to  Halicarnassus,  was  absorbed  in  plough- 


22  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

ing  and  planting,  and  could  not  be  lured  away 
to  do  our  work.  "Besides,"  he  added,  "it  is 
very  well  as  it  is.  Gravel  has  more  character 
than  grass.  Gravel  suggests  strength.  Grass  is 
but  a  smooth  commonplace.  Gravel  is  geological 
and  antiquitous.  It  carries  one  back  to  the  drift 
formation  and  a  wilderness  of  waters.  Grass  is 
a  modern  arrangement.  Gravel  is  the  naked  in- 
nocence  of  Earth.  Grass  is  the  recourse  of  sin- 
born  Shame."  I  let  him  go  on,  putting  a  curb 
to  my  lips.  If  there  is  anything  that  tries  my 
temper,  it  is  to  have  Halicarnassus  philosophize. 
When  he  confines  himself  to  facts  and  syllogisms, 
he  is  comparatively  harmless  ;  but  the  moment  he 
strikes  out  into  moral  reflection  he  becomes  a  nui- 
sance. He  does  not  often  do  it,  I  allow.  A  cer- 
tain blind  instinct  teaches  him  to  cling  to  the  earth, 
and  not  attempt  waxen  wings.  So  I  only  smiled. 
If  I  had  refuted  him,  he  would  have  gone  on  till 
this  time.  I  knew  better.  His  theory  was  impro- 
vised on  the  spot  to  suit  his  facts,  and  the  facts 
were  culpable  indifference  and  negligence,  which 
no  theory  could  convert  into  cardinal  virtues.  I 
was  silent,  and  recalled  to  mind  my  experience 
in  the  fall,  and  the  story  in  the  Young  Reader. 
When  the  farmer  announced  his  intention  to  reap 
his  field  himself,  the  mother-bird  concluded  it 
was  time  to  take  her  nurslings  and  go.  I  deter- 
mined to  see  what  my  own  efforts  might  do  to- 
wards  a  bank,  and,  without  consulting  Halicar- 


THE  BANK.  23 

nassus,  I  walked  ten  miles  one  morning,  and  se- 
cured a  man.  A  man  is  an  indispensable  thing 
in  the  country.  He  was  represented  to  me  as  an 
excellent  gardener,  if  he  could  be  kept  sober.  He 
thought  he  could  make  the  bank  in  a  week,  and 
he  promised  me  faithfully  that  he  would  not  be 
drunk  once  in  all  the  time.  Nor  was  he.  You 
may  be  sure  I  plied  him  with  strong  coffee  and 
highly-spiced  meats,  and  he  did  his  work  in  the 
most  beautiful  manner.  Exultation  and  admira- 
tion filled  my  heart  as  I  saw  the  gravel  begin  to 
haul,  the  loam  topple  over  upon  it,  the  turf  trundle 
down  upon  a  wheelbarrow  and  square  itself  upon 
the' loam,  and  a  shapely  terrace  rise  slowly  from 
the  chaos  of  dShris.  Halicarnassus  enjoyed  it  too. 
He  enjoys  things  if  he  is  not  forced  to  originate 
them.  It  is  the  first  step  which  costs  him.  He 
would  live  in  a  palace  with  great  delight,  if  he 
woke  one  morning  and  found  himself  in  it ;  but  he 
would  live  in  a  cave  many  years  before  he  could 
bring  himself  to  plan  and  construct  even  a  log- 
cabin.  So  he  stood  by  me,  and  we  marked  the 
unsightly  gravel-heap  transfigured  into  a  sightly 
bank,  and  watched  the  lowering  clouds,  and  hoped 
it  would  not  rain.  Premature  rain  would  wash 
away  the  loose  turf  and  loam,  and  many  hopes, 
and  several  dollars,  and  it  was  already  getting  late 
in  the  season.  If  it  only  would  keep  off  just  long 
enough  to  get  the  slope  finished  so  that  the 
whole  should  not  be  carried  away  and  the  work 


24  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

have  to  be  done  quite  over  again  !  It  looked  as 
if  it  would  "  pour  "  every  minute.  We  watched 
the  menacing  sky,  and  the  gardener  wielded  his 
knife  and  line  and  fingers  and  wheelbarrow,  and 
the  slope  was  finished,  and  it  did  not  rain,  and  we 
breathed  again.  The  next  day  wore  away,  and 
the  next,  and  the  next,  and  the  corners  were 
rounded,  and  the  top  met  the  slope  in  grassy  em- 
brace, and  it  did  not  rain.  How  pretty  the  bank 
looked ;  how  like  \hQ  smooth  skin  veiling  and 
adornincr  the  hideous  skeleton  was  the  verdant 
velvet  that  soothed  away  the  rough  gravel.  Then 
we  were  ready  for  the  rain.  Indeed,  we  desired 
rain  to  cherish  the  tender  little  rootlets  of  the 
transplanted  grass.  We  longed  for  rain  to  keep 
the  turf  from  cracking  and  crumbling  away.  But 
it  did  not  rain.  The  green  turned  gray  in  patches. 
The  gray  struggled  for  a  while,  gave  up  the  ghost, 
and  dust  reigned  in  its  stead.  O,  if  it  would  only 
rain  I  We  talked  of  warm  showers,  and  the  pat- 
tering of  drops  through  the  cool  night,  and  the 
new  life  that  would  spring  under  our  feet  in  the 
mornino;.  But  it  did  not  rain.  Then  we  talked 
of  watering-pots,  and  available  light  buckets,  and 
we  put  our  shoulders  to  the  wheel,  and  our  hands 
to  the  pump,  and  gave  the  thirsty  and  dead  and 
dying  grass  a  thorough  drenching.  And  it  did 
not  rain.  The  evening  and  the  morning  came, 
and  it  was  the  third  and  fourth  and  fifth  day,  till 
we  ceased  to  count,  but  poured  our  morning  and 


THE  BANK.  25 

evening  libations  with   a   silent,   sad  persistence, 
and  there  was  no  rain. 

Halicarnassus  was  very  "  aggravating."  He  pre- 
tended great  solicitude  for  the  bank.  I  think  he 
would  have  been  sorry  to  see  it  relapse  into  chaos. 
But  did  he  go  to  work  with  all  his  might  to  pre- 
vent it  ?  Not  he.  He  made  every  one  think  he 
did.  He  talked,  and  —  that  was  all.  He  did  not 
do  a  penny's-worth  of  good.  He  grew  tired  of 
pumping  and  carrying  water  after  the  second  day. 
He  knew  that  my  interest  was  too  deeply  enlisted 
to  permit  me  to  slacken  my  exertions.  He  knew 
that,  if  he  did  not  work,  I  would,  and  he  accord- 
ingly shirked.  "  That  bank  must  be  watered,  or 
it  will  die !  "  he  would  exclaim,  with  a  great  show 
of  efficiency.  "  Yes,"  I  would  answer,  "  let  us 
go  and  water  it  at  once."  "  Very  well.  But  I 
have  my  cows  to  feed  just  now.  Do  you  begin, 
and  I  will  presently  join  you."  And  that  would 
be  the  last  of  him.  When  it  was  all  over,  and  I 
resting  on  the  sofa,  he  would  lounge  in  and  pro- 
fess great  astonishment.  "  I  came  to  help  you, 
but  you  had  finished,"  he  would  say.  Generally 
my  sole  reply  was  a  steady  glance,  before  which 
he  quailed  and  retreated,  though  striving  to  hide 
his  real  feelings  under  a  laugh.  Sometimes,  by 
skilful  diplomacy,  I  succeeded  in  forcing  him  to 
draw  half  a  dozen  buckets  of  water,  but  it  was  a 
great  deal  harder  to  work  him  than  it  was  the 
pump,   though    that    creaked    and   wheezed   and 

2 


26  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

spouted  out  a  stream  not  much  bigger  than  a 
knitting-needle,  and  1  presently  gave  him  over 
as  incorrigible.  The  chief  hand  he  had  in  the 
matter  \^as  to  exacerbate  me  by  talking  before 
friends  about  our  efforts  to  save  the  bank,  and  by 
calling  out,  as  he  passed  to  and  fro,  "  You  are 
putting  on  more  water  there  than  you  need,"  or, 
"  You  are  leaving  this  corner  quite  dry,"  or, 
"  Here,  bring  your  v^atering-pot  this  way."  It 
was  bad  enough  not  to  have  him  take  hold  and 
help  me,  but  it  was  intolerable  to  have  him  come 
and  order  me  about.  The  only  satisfaction  left 
was  to  do  the  opposite  thing  to  that  w^hich  he 
directed.  I  do  not  think  he  minded  it  at  all.  He 
certainly  did  not  issue  fewer  orders.  His  only 
object  was  to  keep  up  appearances. 

As  I  waved  my  watering-pot  hither  and  thither, 
it  seemed  to  me  less  strange  that  the  old  heathen 
nations  should  have  believed  in  two  Deities,  —  one 
of  good  and  the  other  of  evil,  —  Odin,  the  All- 
Father,  and  Surtur,  the  black  one  ;  I  had  to  bring 
the  faith  of  eighteen  centuries  to  bear  on  the  point, 
and  even  then  I  was  not  so  patient  as  I  should 
have  been.  It  might  easily  seem  as  if  a  good 
being  were  trying  to  send  rain,  that  grass  might 
grow  for  the  cattle,  and  herb  for  the  service  of 
man.  It  did  try  very  hard  to  rain.  Every  sign 
was  favorable.  The  clouds  were  black  and  big. 
In  their  bulging  bosoms  you  could  almost  see  the 
tender  grass-blades,  and  the  young  peas,  and  the 


THE  BANK.  27 

waving  of  the  asparagus  tops,  that  their  scattered 
treasures  were  going  to  bring  forth.  A  night 
comes  and  goes  leaving  the  earth  thirsty  and  dew- 
less.  That  is  a  sign  of  rain.  Innumerable  worms 
bore  up  to  the  surface  and  throw  out  little  mounds 
of  soil.  The  fire  runs  up  the  outside  of  the  tea- 
kettle. Everything  happens  hut  rain,  and  lo ! 
there  it  comes  !  I  felt  a  drop  on  my  chin  —  I 
think ;  and  certainly  there  another  fell  on  my 
nose.  No,  the  clouds  roll  off,  the  worms  creep 
back  again,  the  fire  stays  in  the  stove,  the  sun 
comes  out.  The  evilly-disposed  one  is  victorious, 
and  there  is  no  rain. 

Is  there  not  some  malicious  sprite  who  stirs  up 
the  wind  every  night  and  morning  when  I  want 
to  water  the  bank  ?  It  is  work  enough  at  best  to 
draw  the  water  and  carry  it  thirty  yards  and  put 
it  on,  but  in  addition  the  wind  rises.  If  I  stand 
opposite,  it  whisks  my  dress  into  the  water.  If 
I  face  it,  it  whisks  the  water  against  my  dress. 
In  either  case  I  am  drenched,  and  then  the  dust 
comes,  and  I  am  muddy.  Just  now  a  puff  wrapped 
my  skirt  directly  and  tightly  around  the  spout 
from  whose  fifty  orifices  the  water  was  pouring, 
and  in  a  moment  I  was  dripping.  Have  we  not 
a  Surtur  among  us  ? 

If  we  could  stand  off  somewhere,  and  look  at 
creation  as  a  whole,  —  that  is,  if  we  could  occupy 
the  stand-point  of  the  Supreme  Being,  or  even, 
perhaps,  of  the  archangels,  we  should  undoubtedly 


28  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

say  no  without  hesitation.  We  should  see  a  grand- 
eur in  the  conception  of  the  universe,  a  skill  in 
execution,  a  perfect  adaptation  of  all  means  to  the 
wisest  end,  such  as  could  spring  only  from  One 
Being,  and  he  the  perfection  of  wisdom  and  of 
power.  We  should  see  everything  ministering 
to  a  common  purpose,  circling  around  a  common 
centre.  Innumerable  worlds  sweep  down  the  sky 
in  their  appointed  paths,  and  there'is  no  accident. 
The  music  of  the  spheres  has  not  a  jar  of  discord. 
Within  each  world,  doubtless,  the  same  harmony 
prevails.  The  microcosm  is  but  the  macrocosm 
in  miniature.  Minuteness,  as  unerringly  as  vast- 
ness,  points  to  one  God.  Nothing  is  done  in  vain. 
Notbino;  does  what  it  was  not  made  to  do.  What 
seems  destruction  is  construction.  What  seems 
decay  is  growth.  Disturbance  is  re-arrangement. 
Death  is  but  the  unfolding  of  a  higher  life. 

But  it  certainly  seems  to  me  that,  judging  sim- 
ply from  what  we  see,  we  should,  to  say  the  least, 
be  a  very  long  while  in  arriving  at  this  truth. 
We  learn  from  Revelation  that  there  is  but  one 
God,  and  then  we  take  things  as  they  are,  and 
group  them  around  that  central  truth,  and  make 
them  "  fadge."  Revelation  laying  down  the  theo- 
rem, we  press  creation  into  the  proof;  but  the 
unassisted  human  mind  has  always  found  great 
difficulty  in  obtaining  the  unity  of  God  as  the 
solution  of  the  problem  of  creation.  Without 
Revelation,  that  sublime  and  simple  truth  seems 


THE  BANK,  29 

but  blindly  written  on  the  sky  and  the  rocks, — 
seems,  I  say,  —  not  that  it  is  so  written,  but  our 
unenlightened  eyes  would  scarcely  see  more  dis- 
tinctly than  did  those  Christ-anointed  eyes  of  old, 
to  whom  men  were  but  as  trees  walking.  We 
should  naturally  suppose  that,  if  the  universe  were 
the  thought  of  one  mind,  and  the  work  of  one 
hand,  and  that  mind  infinite  in  wisdom,  and  that 
hand  infinite  in  power,  there  would  be  everywhere 
harmony,  order,  symmetry,  finish.  There  would 
be  no  clashing,  no  incompleteness,  no  incompati- 
bility, but,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  there  are  all  these. 
And  the  theory  which  we  should  naturally  form 
would,  I  should  think,  be,  that  there  are  at  least 
two  Deities,  one  indeed  stronger  than  the  other, 
but  not  strong  enouo-h  to  hold  the  other  in  com- 
plete  subjection,  —  not  Omnipotent,  not  therefore 
God.  High  and  low,  there  seem  to  be  indications 
of  two  powers  at  work,  —  one  a  benevolent,  and 
one  a  malevolent  one.  In  the  sky,  the  planets 
and  the  stars  come  from  the  kindly  and  wise  hand 
of  the  former.  Grave  and  steadfast,  they  move 
on  their  mighty  paths  with  mathematical  accuracy 
and  royal  majesty.  But  of  a  sudden,  from  some 
unexpected  quarter,  a  herd  of  comets  is  let  loose 
among  them,  and  the  tricksy,  capricious  sprites  go 
bobbing  in  here,  there,  and  everywhere,  doubling, 
turning,  and  pirouetting  around  the  stately  mon- 
archs  of  the  sky  ;  irreverent  and  elfish ;  now  hit- 
ting Herschel  a  box  on  the  ear,  now  giving  Mer- 


80  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

cury  a  flap  with  their  tails,  and  away  again  before 
those  dignified  veterans  have  recovered  from  their 
surprise  enough  to  look  about  them ;  now  getting 
entangled  with  the  satellites  of  Jupiter,  and  now 
whirling  off  on  the  double-quick  through  illimit- 
able space ;  now  rushing  head-foremost  straight 
into  the  sun,  and  now  careening  over,  and  right 
about  face  again  ;  dashing  in  helter-skelter  among 
the  sober  old  planets,  threatening  to  hurtle  against 
our  own  little  earth,  and  turn  everything  topsy- 
turvy ;  curvetting  and  prancing  among  the  startled 
worlds ;  reined  in  just  enough  to  feel  the  bit,  but 
not  by  any  means  enough  to  give  a  sense  of  secu- 
rity to  the  well-behaved  citizens  of  the  Stellar 
Republic. 

And  how  came  the  world  that  lay  between  Mars 
and  Jupiter  to  be  broken  into  inch  pieces,  each 
one  setting  up  an  orbit,  and  dashing  around  on  its ' 
own  account  ?  And  who  gave  a  wrong  twirl  to 
the  moons  of  Uranus,  and  sent  them  spinning  furi- 
ously backward  instead  of  forward  ?  And  whence 
came  the  torch  that  set  fire  to  the  star  in  Cassio- 
peia? And  what  is  become  of  the  lost  Pleiad? 
And  did  not  the  new  star  that  Tycho  Brahe  found 
the  peasants  staring  at,  run  a  career  that  looked 
very  much  as  if  some  emulous  and  jealous  power 
had  tried  his  bungling  hand  at  world-making,  and 
succeeded  so  far  as  to  set  it  going,  but  could  nei- 
ther guide  nor  stop  it,  and  so  it  flamed  and  flared, 
and  staggered,  and  burned  out  ?     And  is  not  some 


THE  BANK.  31 

force  continually  trying  to  make  the  moon  fall 
into  the  earth,  and  the  earth  fall  into  the  sun, 
and  things  in  general  crash  together  and  come 
to  grief? 

We  descend  from  the  splendid,  shining  heavens 
to  our  own  homely,  dingy,  brown  little  world,  and 
find  ourselves  plunged  at  once  into  a  strong  and 
rapid  current  going  one  way,  with  a  strong  and 
rapid  current  in  the  midst  of  it  going  the  other, 
which  of  course  does  not  make  smooth  sailing. 
Everything  seems  to  be  conducted  on  the  princi- 
ple, "  If  you  cannot  do  as  you  would,  do  as  you 
can."  It  is  all  defect  and  compensation.  It  is  as 
if  the  powerful  and  benevolent  Being  had  intended 
to  make  everything  on  a  perfect  scale,  and  that 
the  malevolent  and  less  powerful,  but  still  mighty 
Being,  had  struck  in  and  marred  it  all,  and  then 
the  first  Being  had  made  up  the  deficiency  with 
marvellous  skill  and  kindness,  but  not  so  as  quite 
to  conceal  the  deficiency.  There  is  the  ostrich  that 
set  out  to  be  a  bird,  but  had  its  wings  nipped  in  the 
bud,  and  is  only  partially  compensated  for  the  loss 
by  a  most  extraordinary  pair  of  legs.  There  is  the 
kangaroo,  with  his  fore  legs  too  short  to  signify,  and 
his  hind  legs  as  much  too  long,  and  who  is  conse- 
quently unable  to  walk,  but  manages  to  get  on  in 
the  world  per  saltum^  —  by  extensive  leaps. 

Worse  than  this  is  the  horrible  rapacity,  voracity, 
and  violence  that  crops  out  everywhere.  The 
whole  animal  kingdom  seems  to  be  impelled  by 


82  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

two  main  motives,  —  to  eat  and  not  to  be  eaten. 
The  cat  lies  in  wait  for  the  mouse,  and  the  doer 
falls  foul  of  the  cat.  The  spider  catches  the  fly, 
and  the  chicken  snaps  up  the  spider,  and  the  hawk 
swoops  away  with  the  chicken.  The  alligator 
lays  its  eggs,  and  the  vulture  goes  and  devours 
them.  The  ant-lion  decimates  a  whole  colony  of 
ants.  The  ocean  is  a  scene  of  constant  guerilla 
warfare.  The  big  fishes  eat  the  little  ones,  the 
little  ones  eat  the  less,  and  they  all  eat  each  other. 
The  whale  gulps  down  at  one  mouthful  more  in- 
dividuals than  there  are  men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren in  Massachusetts. 

Everything  that  is  beautiful  is  veined  with  some- 
thing that  is  not.  The  country  smiles  with  vine- 
yards and  orchards,  and  an  earthquake  comes  and 
swallows  them  up,  or  a  volcano  bursts,  and  blasts 
and  buries  them  forever.  It  is  a  fair  land  of 
orange  and  pomegranate,  of  gorgeous  flowers,  bril- 
liant birds,  and  magnificent  beasts,  but  spiders  as 
big  as  sparrows,  and  centipedes  whose  touch  is 
death.  The  grand,  eternal  sea,  invaluable  for 
communication,  essential  to  life,  soft  under  the 
serene  sky,  sweet  with  the  breath  of  the  spice 
islands  nestling  in  its  bosom,  is  treacherous  and 
hostile  even  in  its  friendship,  nursing  and  nour- 
ishing in  its  hidden  depths  the  whale  which  shall 
smite  your  boat  to  fragments,  and  the  cuttle-fish 
that  shall  drag  it  down,  and  the  shark  that  shall 
swallow  you  when  you  get  there. 


THE  BANK.  33 

Now  it  certainly  seems  to  me  that,  without  Rev- 
elation, these  things  would  he  absolutely  incompre- 
hensible, and  that  the  most  probable  hypothesis 
would  be  that  which  so  many  pagan  creeds  set 
forth,  —  that  there  is  a  Good  One  and  an  Evil 
One,  —  an  hypothesis  which  is  indeed  a  shadow, 
perhaps  I  ought  rather  to  say,  a  rough  likeness,  of 
the  facts.  It  is  the  God  and  the  Devil  of  Chris- 
tianity, dimly  revealed  by  creation,  and  distorted 
by  man's  disturbed  medium.  We  must  believe, 
because  Paul  affirms  it,  that  God  has  revealed  him- 
self clearly  enough  to  make  us  without  excuse  for 
not  glorifying  him  as  God ;  ^  but,  if  not  from  our 
original  constitution,  then  from  our  original  sin, 
we  did,  and  do,  stand  very  much  in  need  of  this 
direct  verbal  revelation  to  show  us  that  his  unity 
is  not  trenched  upon  by  the  signs  of  duality  that 
appear  in  his  works,  that  the  good  is  supreme,  and 
the  evil  under  subjection.  With  that  fact  laid 
down  in  the  Bible,  and  a  general  explanation  of 
the  apparently  antagonistic  fact,  we  can  adjust  the 
shreds  of  facts  that  come  under  our  observation, 
and  establish  harmony.  Given  this  vertebral 
truth,  our  little  branch  truths  join  on,  and  there 
is  a  plan  and  a  Planner.  But  without  this  I  fear 
we  should  stumble  grievously,  as  most  unassisted 
minds  have  stumbled.  Standing  in  the  very  thick 
of  creation,  it  is  difficult  for  us  to  take  in  its  great 
wholeness.  Mrs.  Browning  tells  us  that,  if  Mount 
Athos  had  been 

2*  0 


S4  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

"  carved,  as  Persian  Xerxes  schemed, 
To  some  colossal  statue  of  a  man, 
The  peasants,  gathering  brushwood  in  his  ear. 
Had  guessed  as  little  of  any  human  form 
Up  there,  as  would  a  flock  of  browsing  goats. 
They  'd  have,  in  fact,  to  travel  ten  miles  oflf, 
Or  ere  the  giant  image  broke  on  them 
Full  human  profile." 

So  it  seems  to  me  that  we  must  have  some  dis- 
tant stand-point,  furnished  by  God  in  the  natural 
course  of  his  providence,  or  by  a  verbal  revelation, 
before  we  can  read  in  the  record  of  His  works  His 
absolute  omnipotence  and  unity.  Even  with  rev- 
elation, we  cannot  always  reconcile  discrepancies. 
Our  fragment  of  knowledge  does  not  enable  us  to 
construct  a  system  free  from  doubt.  The  exist- 
ence of  evil  is  still  an  unsolved  problem.  The 
ultimatum  of  reason  and  science  is  an  "  if."  We 
fall  back  on  faith,  and  the  reassurance  of  Divine 
Love  is,  "  What  thou  knowest  not  now,  thou  shalt 
know  hereafter." 

Trusting  in  that  Divine  love,  we  take  in  all  the 
bafflings  and  buffetings  of  life,  yet  feel  in  our  in- 
most hearts,  and  shout  with  exultant  voices  :  — 

The  Lord  God  Omnipotent  reigneth.  Halle- 
lujah. He  giveth  and  keepeth  back.  He  holds 
the  deep  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  and  giving 
does  not  impoverish  him,  neither  does  withholding 
enrich  him.  He  could  give  us  little  sprinklings 
or  great  rains  if  he  chose.  When  he  does  not, 
there  must  be  some  reason  for  it.  Perhaps  one 
object  is  to  show  us  that  we   ought  to  turn  our 


THE  BANK.  35 

attention  to  modes  of  artificial  irrigation.  "We  are 
very  ignorant  and  careless  about  that,  we  almost 
entirely  "  let  time  and  chance  determine."  God 
gives  us  plenty  of  water  in  the  course  of  the  year, 
but  it  belongs  to  us  to  distribute  it  properly.  That 
is  the  way  God  does  give  us  things  generally,  — 
not  the  whole,  but  the  basis.  We  must  work  its 
completion.  There  is  plenty  of  iron,  but  we  must 
dig  for  it,  —  plenty  of  salt,  but  we  must  separate  it 
from  the  brine,  —  plenty  of  bread,  but  it  does  not 
grow  in  loaves.  I  wish  people  who  have  inventive 
genius  would  bestir  themselves.  I  haven't;  but 
I  should  like  a  little  rain  now  and  then. 

I  dare  say  another  reason  is  to  try  our  patience, 
and  also  make  it  strono;er.  We  have  not  all  of  us 
a  bank,  but  a  good  many  of  us  have  peas,  and 
beans,  and  lettuce,  and  morning-glory,  and  asters, 
and  young  apple-trees,  in  which  we  feel  a  tender 
interest.  Can  we  see  them  dying  of  thirst,  rolling 
their  tender  leaves  in  parched  distress,  and  yet  be 
quite  calm  and  sweet-tempered,  —  remember  that 
the  Lord  has  plenty  of  rain,  and  yet  not  be  impa- 
tient or  fret  because  he  does  not  choose  to  bestow 
it?  If  there  is  any  Achan  in  the  camp  whose 
discontent  keeps  blessings  from  us,  let  him  make 
confession  and  repent.  Let  us  all  be  content  and 
glad  without  rain,  if  so  be  the  Lord  will  give  us 
here  a  little  and  there  a  little. 

Meanwhile  there  are  many  things  to  be  grateful 
for.     Once  in  a  while  a  heavy  dew  comes  through 


I 


36  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

the  drought,  and  the  earth  smiles  in  the  early 
morning.  Dew  is  beautiful  in  poetry,  but  more 
beautiful  on  banks  when  there  is  no  rain.  How 
grateful  should  we  be  if  our  wells  do  not  give  out, 
for  then  not  only  the  grass,  but  we  should  suf- 
fer,—  grateful,  too,  if  our  neighbors'  wells  do  not 
fail,  for  then  they  would  come  to  ours,  and  bank 
and  gardens  would  stay  thirsty.  For  men  and  wo- 
men and  little  children  must  be  served,  even  if 
banks  go  by  the  board.  Then,  too,  it  is  so  pleas- 
ant to  take  care  of  grass.  It  is  so  strong  and 
helpful  and  thankful.  Flowers  have  a  languish 
ing,  drooping  air,  as  if  they  would  about  as  soon 
die  as  live,  if  it  's  all  the  same  to  you ;  but  the 
grass  is  sturdy.  It  makes  a  desperate  struggle  for 
existence.  It  pulls  and  tugs  away  at  its  little 
thread  of  life  with  a  forty-horse  power.  When 
it  is  faint,  and  almost  despairing,  give  it  three 
drops  of  water,  and  it  starts  up  again,  and  is  at  it, 
good  as  new.  Every  morning  it  winks  and  blinks 
up  at  you  cheerily,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Here  I 
am.  Reckon  on  me.  If  I  was  born  to  be  hay, 
I  'm  determined  not  to  die  grass.  Just  you  do 
your  part,  and  you  may  be  sure  I  will  do  mine ! " 
Dear  old  grass,  I  knew  you  would,  though  you 
did  look  very  crisp  and  bunchy  and  desperate. 
I  kept  faith  in  you,  and  you  kept  faith  with  me ; 
holding  your  own  till  the  windows  of  heaven  were 
opened,  and  then  softening  and  strengthening  into 
beauty  and   vigor  and    velvet  verdancy.      Now 


THE  BANK. 


37 


your   deft   blades   cleave   the   air.     Your  clover- 
heads    breathe    fragrance   from    their   white    and 
purple  loveliness.     Your  saucy  butteiyups 
flash  back  his  rays  to  the  summer 
sun,  and  through  your  fairy 
forests    I   hear  the 
hum  of  many 
a  bee. 


My  Garden. 


CAN  speak  of  it  calmly  now;  but 
there  have  been  moments  when  the 
lightest  mention  of  those  words  would 
sway  my  soul  to  its  profoundest  depths, 
I  am  a  woman.  You  may  have  inferred  this 
before  ;  but  I  now  desire  to  state  it  distinctly, 
because  I  like  to  do  as  I  would  be  done  by,  when 
I  can  just  as  well  as  not.  It  rasps  a  person  of  my 
temperament  exceedingly  to  be  deceived.  When 
any  one  tells  a  story,  we  wish  to  know  at  the 
outset  whether  the  story-teller  is  a  man  or  a  wo- 
man. The  two  sexes  awaken  two  entirely  distinct 
sets  of  feelings,  and  you  would  no  more  use  the 
one  for  the  other  than  you  would  put  on  your  tiny 
teacups  at  breakfast,  or  lay  the  carving-knife  by 
the  butter-plate.  Consequently  it  is  very  exasper- 
ating to  sit,  open-eyed  and  expectant,  watching  the 
removal  of  the  successive  sw^athings  which  hide 
from  you  the  dusky  glories  of  an  old-time  prin- 
cess, and,  when  the  unrolling  is  over,  to  find  it 
is  nothing,   after   all,  but   a  great   lubberly  boy. 


MY  GARDEN.  39 

Equally  trying  is  it  to  feel  your  interest  clustering 
round  a  narrator's  manhood,  all  your  individuality 
merging  in  his,  till,  of  a  sudden,  by  the  merest 
chance,  you  catch  the  swell  of  crinoline,  and  there 
you  are.  Away  with  such  clumsiness !  Let  us 
have  everybody  christened  before  we  begin. 

I  do,  therefore,  with  Spartan  firmness,  depose 
and  say  that  I  am  a  woman.  I  am  aware  that  I 
place  myself  at  signal  disadvantage  by  the  avowal. 
I  fly  in  the  face  of  hereditary  prejudice.  I  am 
thrust  at  once  beyond  the  pale  of  masculine  sym- 
pathy. Men  will  neither  credit  my  success  nor 
lament  my  failure,  because  they  will  consider  me 
poaching  on  their  manor.  If  I  chronicle  a  big 
beet,  they  will  bring  forward  one  twice  as  large. 
If  I  mourn  a  deceased  squash,  they  will  mutter, 
"  Woman's  farming  !  "  Shunning  Scylla,  I  shall 
perforce  fall  into  Charybdis.  ( Vide  Classical 
Dictionary.  I  have  lent  mine,  but  I  know  one 
was  a  rock  and  the  other  a  whirlpool,  though  I 
cannot  state,  with  any  definiteness,  which  was 
which.)  I  may  be  as  humble  and  deprecating  as 
I  choose,  but  it  will  not  avail  me.  A  very  agony 
of  self-abasement  will  be  no  armor  against  the 
pwsoned  shafts  which  assumed  superiority  will 
hurl  against  me.  Yet  I  press  the  arrow  to  my 
bleeding  heart,  and  calmly  reiterate,  I  am  a  wo- 
man. 

The  full  magnanimity  of  which  reiteration  can 
be  perceived  only  when  I  inform  you  that  I  could 


40  COUNTRY  LIVING, 

easily  deceive  you,  if  I  chose.  There  is  about 
my  serious  style  a  vigor  of  thought,  a  comprehen- 
siveness of  view,  a  closeness  of  logic,  and  a  terse- 
ness of  diction,  commonly  supposed  to  pertain  only 
to  the  stronger  sex.  Not  wanting  in  a  certain  fan- 
ciful sprightliness  which  is  the  peculiar  grace  of 
woman,  it  possesses  also,  in  large  measure,  that 
concentrativeness  which  is  deemed  the  peculiar 
strength  of  man.  Where  an  ordinary  woman 
will  leave  the  beaten  track,  wandering  in  a  thou- 
sand little  by-ways  of  her  own,  —  flowery  and 
beautiful,  it  is  true,  and  leading  her  airy  feet  to 
"  sunny  spots  of  greenery "  and  the  gleam  of 
golden  apples,  but  keeping  her  not  less  surely 
from  the  goal,  —  I  march  straight  on,  turning 
neither  to  the  right  ha-nd  nor  to  the  left,  beguiled 
into  no  side-issues,  discussing  no  collateral  ques- 
tion, but  with  keen  eye  and  strong  hand  aiming 
right  at  the  heart  of  mv  theme.  Judge  thus  of 
the  stern  severity  of  my  virtue.  There  is  no 
heroism  in  denying  ourselves  the  pleasures  which 
we  cannot  compass.  It  is  not  self-sacrifice,  but 
self-cherishing,  that  turns  the  dyspeptic  alderman 
away  from  turtle-soup  and  the  pdtS  de  foie  gras 
to  mush  and  milk.  The  hungry  newsboy,  regal- 
ing his  nostrils  with  the  scents  that  come  up  from 
a  subterranean  kitchen,  does  not  always  know 
whether  or  not  he  is  honest,  till  the  cook  turns 
away  for  a  moment,  and  a  steaming  joint  is  within 
reach  of  his  yearning  fingers.     It  is  no  credit  to 


MY  GARDEN.  41 

a  weak-minded  woman  not  to  be  strong-minded  and 
write  poetry.  She  could  not  if  she  tried  ;  but  to 
feed  on  locusts  and  wild  honey  that  the  soul  may 
be  in  better  condition  to  fight  the  truth's  battles, — 
to  go  with  empty  stomach  for  a  clear  conscience' 
sake,  —  to  sacrifice  intellectual  tastes  to  womanly 
duties,  when  the  two  conflict,  — 

"  That 's  the  true  pathos  and  sublime, 
Of  human  life." 

You  will,  therefore,  no  longer  withhold  your  ap- 
preciative admiration,  when,  in  full  possession  of 
what  theologians  call  the  power  of  contrary  choice, 
I  make  the  unmistakable  assertion  that  I  am  a 
woman. 

Hope  told  a  flattering  tale  when,  excited  and 
happy,  but  not  sated  with  the  gayeties  of  a  sojourn 
among  urban  and  urbane  friends,  I  set  out  on  my 
triumphal  march  from  the  city  of  my,  visit  to  the 
estate  of  my  adoption.  Triumphal  indeed !  My 
pathway  was  strewed  with  roses.  Feathery  as- 
paragus and  the  crispness  of  tender  lettuce  waved 
dewy  greetings  from  every  railroad-side  ;  green 
peas  crested  the  racing  waves  of  Long  Island 
Sound,  and  unnumbered  carrots  of  gold  sprang 
up  in  the  wake  of  the  ploughing  steamer ;  till 
I  was  wellnigh  drunk  with  the  new  wine  of  my 
own  purple  vintage.  But  I  was  not  ungenerous. 
In  the  height  of  my  innocent  exultation,  I  re- 
membered the  dwellers  in  cities  who  do  all  their 
gardening  at  stalls,  and  in  my  heart  I  determined, 


42  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

when  the  season  should  be  fully  blown,  to  invite 
as  many  as  my  house  could  hold  to  share  with  me 
the  delight  of  plucking  strawberries  from  their 
stems  and  drinking  in  foaming  health  from  the 
balmy-breathed  cows.  Moreover,  in  the  exuber- 
ance of  my  joy,  I  determined  to  go  still  further, 
and  despatch  to  those  doomed  ones  who  cannot 
purchase  even  a  furlough  from  burning  pavements 
baskets  of  fragrance  and  sweetness.  I  pleased  my- 
self with  pretty  conceits.  To  one  who  toils  early 
and  late  in  an  official  Sahara,  that  the  home-atmos- 
phere may  always  be  redolent  of  perfume,  I  would 
send  a  bunch  of  long-stemmed  white  and  crimson 
rose-buds,  in  the  midst  of  which  he  should  find  a 
dainty  note  whispering,  "  Dear  Fritz :  drink  this 
pure  glass  of  my  overflowing  June  to  the  health 
of  weans  and  wife,  not  forgetting  your  unforgetful 
friend."  To  a  pale-browed,  sad-eyed  woman,  who 
flits  from  velvet  carpets  and  broidered  flounces  to 
the  bedside  of  an  invalid  mother  whom  her  slender 
fingers  and  unslender  and  most  godlike  devotion 
can  scarcely  keep  this  side  the  pearly  gates,  I 
would  heap  a  basket  of  summer-hued  peaches 
smiling  up  from  cool,  green  leaves  into  their 
straitened  home,  and  with  eyes,  perchance,  tear- 
dimmed,  she  should  read,  "  My  good  Maria,  the 
peaches  are  to  go  to  your  lips,  the  bloom  to  your 
cheeks,  and  the  gardener  to  your  heart."  Ah 
me !  How  much  grace  and  gladness  may  bud 
and  blossom   in   one   little   garden !     Only  three 


MY  GARDEN.  43 

acres  of  land,  but  what  a  crop  of  sunny  surprises, 
unexpected  tenderness,  grateful  joys,  hopes,  loves, 
and  restful  memories  I  —  what  wells  of  happiness, 
what  sparkles  of  mirth,  what  sweeps  of  summer  in 
the  heart,  what  glimpses  of  the  Upper  Country  ! 

Halicarnassus  was  there  before  me  (in  the  gar- 
den, I  mean,  not  in  the  spot  last  alluded  to).  It 
has  been  the  one  misfortune  of  my  life  that  Hali- 
carnassus got  the  start  of  me  at  the  outset.  With 
a  fair  field  and  no  favor  I  should  have  been  quite 
adequate  to  him.  As  it  was,  he  was  born  and 
began,  and  there  was  no  resource  left  to  me  but 
to  be  born  and  follow,  which  I  did  as  fast  as  pos- 
sible ;  but  that  one  false  move  could  never  be 
redeemed.  I  know  there  are  shallow  thinkers 
who  love  to  prate  of  the  supremacy  of  mind  over 
matter,  —  who  assert  that  circumstances  are  plastic 
as  clay  in  the  hands  of  the  man  who  knows  how 
to  mould  them.  They  clench  their  fists,  and  in- 
flate their  lungs,  and  quote  Napoleon's  proud 
boast,  —  "  Circumstances  !  I  make  circumstances  !  " 
Vain  babblers  !  Whither  did  this  Napoleonic  idea 
lead  ?  To  a  barren  rock  in  a  waste  of  waters. 
Do  we  need  St.  Helena  and  Sir  Hudson  Lowe 
to  refute  it  ?  Control  circumstances !  I  should 
like  to  know  if  the  most  important  circumstance 
that  can  happen  to  a  man  is  not  to  be  born  ?  and 
if  that  is  under  his  control,  or  in  any  way  affected 
by  his  whims  and  wishes  ?  Would  not  Louis 
XVI.  have  been  the  son   of  a   goldsmith,  if  he 


44  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

could  have  had  his  way  ?  Would  Burns  have 
been  born  a  slaving,  starving  peasant,  if  he  had 
been  consulted  beforehand  ?  Would  not  the  chil- 
dren of  vice  be  the  children  of  virtue,  if  they 
could  have  had  their  choice  ?  and  would  not  the 
whole  tenor  of  their  lives  have  been  chano-ed  there- 
by  ?  Would  a  good  many  of  us  have  been  born 
at  all,  if  we  could  have  helped  it?  Control  cir- 
cumstances, forsooth !  when  a  mother's  sudden 
terror  brings  an  idiot  child  into  the  world,  —  when 
the  restive  eye  of  his  great-grandfather,  whom  he 
never  saw,  looks  at  you  from  your  two-year-old, 
and  the  spirit  of  that  roving  ancestor  makes  the 
boy  also  a  fugitive  and  a  vagabond  on  the  earth ! 
No,  no.  We  may  coax  circumstances  a  little, 
and  shove  them  about,  and  make  the  best  of  them, 
but  there  they  are.  We  may  try  to  get  out  of 
their  way  ;  but  they  will  trip  us  up,  not  once, 
but  many  times.  We  may  affect  to  tread  them 
under  foot  in  the  daylight,  but  in  the  night-time 
they  will  turn  again  and  rend  us.  All  we  can 
do  is  first  to  accept  them  as  facts,  and  then  reason 
from  them  as  premises.  We  cannot  control  them, 
but  we  can  control  our  own  use  of  them.  We 
can  make  them  a  savor  of  life  unto  life,  or  of 
death  unto  death. 

Application.  —  If  mind  could  have  been  su- 
preme over  matter,  Halicarnassus  should,  in  the 
first  place,  have  taken  the  world  at  second-hand 
fi'om  me,  and,  in  the  second  place,  he  should  not 


MY  GARDEN.  45 

have  stood  smiling  on  the  front-door  steps  when 
the  coach  set  me  down  there.  As  it  was,  I  made 
the  best  of  the  one  case  by  following  in  his  foot' 
steps,  —  not  meekly,  not  acquiescently,  but  pro- 
testing, yet  following,  —  and  of  the  other,  by  smil- 
ing responsive  and  asking  pleasantly,  — 

"  Are  the  things  planted  yet  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Halicarnassus. 

This  was  better  than  I  had  dared  to  hope. 
When  I  saw  him  standing  there  so  complacent 
and  serene,  I  felt  certain  that  a  storm  was  brewing, 
or  rather  had  brewed,  and  burst  over  my  garden, 
and  blighted  its  fair  prospects.  I  was  confident 
that  he  had  gone  and  planted  every  square  inch  of 
the  soil  with  some  hideous  absurdity,  which  would 
spring  up  a  hundred-fold  in  perpetual  reminders 
of  the  one  misfortune  to  which  I  have  alluded. 

So  his  ready  answer  gave  me  relief,  and  yet 
I  could  not  divest  myself  of  a  vague  fear,  a  sense 
of  coming  thunder.  In  spite  of  my  endeavors, 
that  calm,  clear  face  would  hft  itself  to  my  view  as 
a  mere  "  weather-breeder  "  ;  but  I  ate  my  supper, 
unpacked  my  trunks,  took  out  my  papers  of  pre- 
cious seeds,  and,  sitting  in  the  flooding  sunlight 
under  the  little  western  porch,  I  poured  them  into 
my  lap,  and  bade  Halicarnassus  come  to  me.  He 
came,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  see  my  jewels  ?  "  I  asked, 
looking  as  much  like  Cornelia  as  a  little  woman 
somewhat  inclined  to  dumpiness  can. 


46  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

Halicarnassus  nodded  assent. 

"  There,"  said  I,  unrolling  a  paper,  "  that  is 
Lychnidea  acuminata.  Sometimes  it  flowers  in 
white  masses,  pure  as  a  baby's  soul.  Sometimes 
it  glows  in  purple,  pink,  and  crimson,  intense,  but 
unconsuming,  like  Horeb's  burning  bush.  The 
old  Greeks  knew  it  well,  and  they  baptized  its 
prismatic  loveliness  with  their  sunny  symbolism, 
and  called  it  the  Flame-Flower.  These  very 
seeds  may  have  sprung  centuries  ago  from  the 
hearts  of  heroes  who  sleep  at  Marathon ;  and 
when  their  tender  petals  quiver  in  the  sunlight  of 
my  garden,  I  shall  see  the  gleam  of  Attic  armor 
and  the  flash  of  fiery  souls.  Like  heroes,  too, 
it  is  both  beautiful  and  bold.  It  does  not  demand 
careflil  cultivation,  — no  hot-house  tenderness  —  '* 

"  I  should  rather  think  not,"  interrupted  Hali- 
carnassus. "  Pat  Curran  has  his  front-yard  full 
of  it." 

I  collapsed  at  once,  and  asked,  humbly,  — 

"  Where  did  he  get  it  ?  " 

"  Got  it  anywhere.  It  grows  wild  almost.  It 's 
nothing  but  phlox.  My  opinion  is,  that  the  old 
Greeks  knew  no  more  about  it  than  that  brindled 
cow." 

Nothing  further  occurring  to  me  to  be  said  on 
the  subject,  I  waived  it,  and  took  up  another  par- 
cel, on  which  I  spelled  out,  with  some  difficulty, 
"  Delphinium  exaltatum.      Its  name   indicates  its 


MY  GARDEN.  47 

"  It 's  an  exalted  dolphin,  then,  I  suppose,"  said 
Halicarnassus. 

"  Yes ! "  I  said,  dexterously  catching  up  an 
argumentum  ad  hominem,  "  it  is  an  exalted  dolphin, 
—  an  apotheosized  dolphin,  —  a  dolphin  made  glo- 
rious. For,  as  the  dolphin  catches  the  sunbeams 
and  sends  them  back  with  a  thousand  added  splen- 
dors, so  this  flower  opens  its  quivering  bosom  and 
gathers  from  the  vast  laboratory  of  the  sky  the 
purple  of  a  monarch's  robe,  and  the  ocean's  deep, 
calm  blue.     In  its  gracious  cup  you  shall  see — " 

"  A  fiddlestick !  "  jerked  out  Halicarnassus, 
profanely.  "  What  are  you  raving  about  such 
a  precious  bundle  of  weeds  for  ?  There  is  n't 
a  shoemaker's  apprentice  in  the  village  that  has 
n't  his  seven-by-nine  gardeji  overrun  with  them. 
You  might  have  done  better  than  bring  cart-loads 
of  phlox  and  larkspur  a  thousand  miles.  Why 
did  n't  you  import  a  few  hollyhocks,  or  a  sun- 
flower or  two,  and  perhaps  a  dainty  slip  of  cab- 
bage? A  pumpkin- vine,  now,  would  climb  over 
the  front-door  deliciously,  and  a  row  of  burdocks 
would  make  a  highly  entertaining  border." 

The  reader  will  bear  me  witness  that  I  had  met 
my  first  rebuff  with  humility.  It  was  probably 
this  very  humility  that  emboldened  him  to  a 
second  attack.  I  determined  to  change  my  tac- 
tics, and  give  battle. 

"  Halicarnassus,"  said  I,  severely,  "  you  are  a 
hypocrite.     You  set  up  for  a  Democrat  —  " 


48  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

"  Not  I,"  interrupted  he  ;  "  I  voted  for  Harrison 
in  '40,  and  for  Fremont  in  ^bQ^  and  — " 

"  Nonsense  !  "  interrupted  I,  in  turn  ;  "  I  mean 
a  Democrat  etymological,  not  a  Democrat  political. 
You  stand  by  the  Declaration  of  Independence, 
and  believe  in  liberty,  equality,  and  fraternity,  and 
that  all  men  are  of  one  blood  ;  and  here  you  are, 
ridiculing  these  innocent  flowers,  because  their 
brilliant  beauty  is  not  shut  up  in  a  conservatory, 
to  exhale  its  fragrance  on  a  fastidious  few,  but 
blooms  on  all  alike,  gladdening  the  home  of  exile 
and  lightening  the  burden  of  labor." 

Halicarnassus  saw  that  I  had  made  a  point 
against  him,  and  preserved  a  discreet  silence. 

"  But  you  are  wrong,"  I  went  on,  "  even  if  yon 
are  right.  You  may  laugh  to  scorn  my  floral 
treasures,  because  they  seem  to  you  common  and 
unclean,  but  your  laughter  is  premature.  It  is  no 
ordinary  seed  that  you  see  before  you.  It  sprang 
from  no  profane  soil.  It  came  from  the  —  the  — 
some  kind  of  an  office  at  Washington,  sir !  It 
was  given  me  by  one  whose  name  stands  high  on 
the  scroll  of  fame,  —  a  statesman  whose  views  are 
as  broad  as  his  judgment  is  sound,  —  an  orator 
who  holds  all  hearts  in  his  hand,  —  a  man  who  is 
always  found  on  the  side  of  the  feeble  truth  against 
the  strong  falsehood,  —  whose  sympathy  for  all 
that  is  good,  whose  hostility  to  all  that  is  bad,  and 
whose  boldness  in  every  righteous  cause,  make 
him   alike   the  terror  and  abhorrence  of  the  op- 


MY  GARDEN.  49 

pressor,  and  the  hope  and  joy  and  staff  of  the 
oppressed." 

"  What  is  his  name  ? "  said  Halicarnassus, 
phlegmatically. 

"  And  for  your  miserable  pumpkin-vine,"  I  went 
on,  "  behold  this  morning-glory,  that  shall  open  its 
barbaric  splendor  to  the  sun  and  mount  heaven- 
ward on  the  sparkling  chariots  of  the  dew.  I 
took  this  from  the  white  hand  of  a  young  girl  in 
whose  heart  poetry  and  purity  have  met,  grace 
and  virtue  have  kissed  each  other,  —  whose  feet 
have  danced  over  lilies  and  roses,  who  has  "  known 
no  sterner  duty  than  to  give  caresses,"  and  whose 
gentle,  spontaneous,  and  ever-active  loveliness  con- 
tinually remind  me  that  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of 
heaven."  * 

"  Courted  yet  ?  "  asked  Halicarnassus,  with  a 
show  of  interest. 

I  transfixed  him  with  a  look,  and  continued,  — 

"  This  Maurandia,  a  climber,  it  may  be  com- 
mon or  it  may  be  a  king's  ransom.  I  only  know 
that  it  is  rosy-hued,  and  that  I  shall  look  at  life 
through  its  pleasant  medium.  Some  fantastic 
trellis,  brown  and  benevolent,  shall  knot  support- 
ing arms  around  it,  and  day  by  day  it  shall  twine 
daintily  up  toward  my  southern  window,  and  whis- 
per softly  of  the  sweet-voiced,  tender-eyed  woman 
from  whose  fairy  bower  it  came  in  rosy  wrappings. 
And  this  Nemophila^  '  blue  as  my  brother's  eyes,' 
—  the  brave  young   brother  whose  heroism  and 


50  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

manhood  have  outstripped  his  years,  and  who 
looks  forth  from  the  dark  leafiness  of  far  Australia 
lovingly  and  longingly  over  the  blue  waters,  as 
if,  floating  above  them^  he  might  catch  the  flutter 
of  white   garments    and   the   smile   on  a   sister's 

lip-" 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  'em  ?  "  put  in 
Halicarnassus  again. 

I  hesitated  a  moment,  undecided  whether  to  be 
amiable  or  bellicose  under  the  provocation,  but 
concluded  that  my  ends  would  stand  a  better 
chance  of  being  gained  by  adopting  the  former 
course,  and  so  answered  seriously,  as  if  I  had  not 
been  switched  off"  the  track,  but  was  going  on 
with  perfect  continuity,  — 

•"  To-morrow  I  shall  take  observations.  Then, 
where  the  situation  seems  most  favorable,  I  shall 
lay  out  a  garden.  I  shall  plant  these  seeds  in  it, 
except  the  vines  and  such  things,  which  I  wish  to 
put  near  the  house  to  hide  as  much  as  possible  its 
garish  white,  Then,  with  every  little  tender  shoot 
that  appears  above  the  ground,  there  will  blossom 
also  a  pleasant  memory,  or  a  sunny  hope,  or  an 
admiring  thrill." 

"  What  do  you  expect  will  be  the  market- value 
of  that  crop  ?  " 

"  Wealth  which  an  empire  could  not  purchase," 
I  answered,  with  enthusiasm.  ''  But  I  shall  not 
confine  my  attention  to  flowers.  I  shall  make  the 
useful  go  with  the  beautiful.     I  shall  plant  vege- 


MY  GARDEN.  51 

tables, — lettuce,  and  asparagus,  and  —  so  forth. 
Our  table  shall  be  garnished  with  the  products  of 
our  own  soil,  and  our  own  works  shall  praise  us." 

There  was  a  pause  of  several  minutes,  during 
which  I  fondled  the  seeds,  and  Halicarnassus  en- 
veloped himself  in  clouds  of  smoke.  Presently 
there  was  a  cessation  of  puffs,  a  rift  in  the  cloud 
showed  that  the  oracle  was  opening  his  mouth, 
and  directly  thereafter  he  delivered  himself  of  the 
encouraging  remark,  — 

"  If  we  don't  have  any  vegetables  till  we  raise 
'em,  we  shall  be  carnivorous  for  some  time  to 
come." 

It  was  said  with  that  provoking  indifference 
more  trying  to  a  sensitive  mind  than  downright 
insult.  You  know  it  is  based  on  some  hidden 
obstacle,  palpable  to  your  enemy,  though  hidden 
from  you,  —  and  that  he  is  calm  because  he  knows 
that  the  nature  of  things  will  work  against  you, 
so'  that  he  need  not  interfere.  If  I  had  been  less 
interested,  I  would  have  revenged  myself  on  him 
by  remaining  silent ;  but  I  was  very  much  inter- 
ested, so' I  strangled  my  pride  and  said, — 

"Why  not?" 

"  Land  is  too  old  for  such  things.  Soil  is  n't 
mellow  enough." 

I  had  always  supposed  that  the  greater  part  of 
the  main-land  of  our  continent  was  of  equal  an- 
tiquity, and  dated  back  alike  to  the  alluvial  period  ; 
but  I  suppose  our  little  three  acres  must  have  been 


52  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

injected  through  the  intervening  strata  by  some 
physical  convulsion,  from  the  drift,  or  the  tertiary 
formation,  perhaps  even  from  the  primitive  granite. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  I  ventured  to 
inquire.  "  I  don't  suppose  the  land  will  grow  any 
younger  by  keeping." 

"  Plant  it  with  corn  and  potatoes  for  at  least 
two  years  before  there  can  be  anything  like  a  gar- 
den." 

And  Halicarnassus  put  up  his  pipe  and  betook 
himself  to  the  house,  —  and  I  was  glad  of  it,  the 
abominable  bore  !  —  to  sit  there  and  listen  to  my 
glowing  schemes,  knowing  all  the  while  that  they 
were  soap-bubbles.  "  Corn  and  potatoes,"  indeed ! 
I  did  n't  believe  a  word  of  it.  Halicarnassus  al- 
ways had  an  insane  passion  for  corn  and  potatoes. 
Land  represented  to  him  so  many  bushels  of  the 
one  or  the  other.  Now  corn  and  potatoes  are  very 
well  in  their  way,  but,  like  every  other  innocent 
indulgence,  carried  too  far,  become  a  vice ;  and  I 
more  than  suspected  he  had  planned  the  strategy 
simply  to  gratify  his  own  w^eakness.  Corn  and 
potatoes,  indeed! 

But  when  Halicarnassus  entered  the  lists  ag'ainst 
me,  he  found  an  opponent  worthy  of  his  steel. 
A  few  more  such  victories  would  be  his  ruin.  A 
grand  scheme  fired  and  filled  my  mind  during  the 
silent  watches  of  the  night,  and  sent  me  forth  in 
the  morning,  jubilant  with  high  resolve.  Alexan- 
der might  weep  that  he  had  no  more  worlds  to 


MY  GARDEN.  53 

conquer;  but  I  would  create  new.  Archimedes 
might  desiderate  a  place  to  stand  on,  before  he 
could  bring  his  lever  into  play ;  I  would  move  the 
world,  self-poised.  If  Halicarnassus  fancied  that 
I  was  cut  up,  dispersed,  and  annihilated  by  one 
disaster,  he  should  weep  tears  of  blood  to  see  me 
rise,  Phoenix-like,  from  the  ashes  of  my  dead 
hopes,  to  a  newer  and  more  glorious  life.  Here, 
having  exhausted  my  classics,  I  took  a  long  sweep 
down  to  modern  times,  and  vowed  in  my  heart 
never  to  give  up  the  ship. 

Halicarnassus  saw  that  a  fell  purpose  was  work- 
ing in  my  mind,  but  a  certain  high  tragedy  in  my 
aspect  warned  him  to  silence;  so  he  only  dogged 
me  around  the  corners  of  the  house,  eyed  me 
askance  from  the  wood-shed,  and  peeped  through 
the  crevices  of  the  demented  little  barn.  But  his 
vigilance  bore  no  fruit.  I  but  walked  moodily 
"  with  folded  arms  and  fixed  eyes,"  or  struck  out 
new  paths  at  random,  so  long  as  there  were  any 
vestiges  of  his  creation  extant.  His  time  and 
patience  being  at  length  exhausted,  he  went  into 
the  field  to  immolate  himself  with  ever  new  devo- 
tion on  the  shrine  of  corn  and  potatoes.  Then 
my  scheme  came  to  a  head  at  once.  In  my  walk- 
ing, I  had  observed  a  box  about  three  feet  long, 
two  broad,  and  one  foot  deep,  which  Halicar- 
nassus, with  his  usual  disregard  of  the  proprieties 
of  life,  had  used  to  block  up  a  gateway  that  was 
waiting  for  a  gate.     It  was  just  what  I  wanted. 


54  COIINTRY  LIVING. 

I  straightway  knocked  out  the  few  nails  that  kept 
it  in  place,  and,  like  another  Samson,  bore  it  away 
on  my  shoulders.  It  was  not  an  easy  thing  to 
manage,  as  any  one  may  find  by  trying,  —  nor 
would  I  advise  young  ladies,  as  a  general  thing,  to 
adopt  that  form  of  exercise,  —  but  the  end,  not 
the  means,  was  my  object,  and  by  skilful  diplo- 
macy I  got  it  up  the  back-stairs  and  through 
my  window,  out  upon  the  roof  of  the  porch  di- 
rectly below.  I  then  took  the  ash-pail  and  the 
fire-shovel,  and  went  into  the  field,  carefully  keep- 
ing the  lee-side  of  Halicarnassus.  "  Good,  rich 
loam"  I  had  observed  all  the  gardening  books  to 
recommend ;  but  wherein  the  virtue  or  the  rich- 
ness of  loam  consisted  I  did  not  feel  competent 
to  decide,  and  I  scorned  to  ask.  There  seemed 
to  be  two  kinds :  one  black,  damp,  and  dismal ; 
the  other  fine,  yellow,  and  good-natured.  A  little 
reflection  decided  me  to  take  the  latter.  Gold 
constituted  riches,  and  this  was  yellow  like  gold. 
Moreover,  it  seemed  to  have  more  life  in  it. 
Night  and  darkness  belonged  to  the  other,  while 
the  very  heart  of  sunshine  and  summer  seemed  to 
be  imprisoned  in  this  golden  dust.  So  I  plied  my 
shovel  and  filled  my  pail  again  and  again,  bearing 
it  aloft  with  joyful  labor,  eager  to  be  through 
before  Halicarnassus  should  reappear ;  but  he  got 
on  the  trail  just  as  I  was  whisking  up-stairs  for  the 
last  time,  and  shouted,  astonished,  — 
''  What  are  you  doing  ?  " 


MY  GARDEN,  55 

"  Nothing,"  I  answered,  with  that  well-known 
accent  which  says,  "  Everything !  and  I  mean 
to  keep  doing  if." 

I  have  observed,  that,  in  managing  parents, 
husbands,  lovers,  brothers,  and  indeed  all  classes 
of  inferiors,  nothing  is  so  efficacious  as  to  let  them 
know  at  the  outset  that  you  are  going  to  have  your 
own  way.  They  may  fret  a  little  at  first,  and  in- 
terpose a  few  puny  obstacles,  but  it  will  be  only  a 
temporary  obstruction  ;  whereas,  if  you  parley  and 
hesitate  and  suggest,  they  will  but  gather  courage 
and  strength  for  a  formidable  resistance.  It  is  the 
first  step  that  costs.  Halicarnassus  understood  at 
once  from  my  one  small  shot  that  I  was  in  a  mood 
to  be  let  alone,  and  he  let  me  alone  accordingly. 

I  remembered  he  had  said  that  the  soil  was  not 
mellow  enough,  and  I  determined  that  my  soil 
should  be  mellow,  to  which  end  I  took  it  up  by 
handfuls  and  squeezed  it  through  my  fingers,  com- 
pletely pulverizing  it.  It  was  not  disagreeable 
work.  Things  in  their  right  places  are  very  sel- 
dom disagreeeble.  A  spider  on  your  dress  is  a 
horror,  but  a  spider  out-doors  is  rather  interesting. 
Besides,  the  loam  had  a  fine,  soft  feel  that  was 
absolutely  pleasant ;  but  a  hideous  black  and  yel- 
low reptile  with  horns  and  hoofs,  that  winked  up 
at  me  from  it,  was  decidedly  unpleasant  and  out 
of  place,  and  I  at  once  concluded  that  the  soil 
was  sufficiently  mellow  for  my  purposes,  and 
smoothed   it   off  directly.     Then,   with  delighted 


56  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

fingers,  in  sweeping  circles,  and  fantastic  whirls, 
and  exact  triangles,  I  planted  my  seeds  in  gener- 
ous profusion,  determined,  that,  if  my  wilderness 
did  not  blossom,  it  should  not  be  from  nio-crardli- 
ness  of  seed.  But  even  then  my  box  was  Ml 
before  my  basket  was  emptied,  and  I  was  very 
reluctantly  compelled  to  bring  down  from  the 
garret  another  box,  which  had  been  the  property 
of  my  great-grandfather.  My  great-grandfather 
was,  I  regret  to  say,  a  barber.  I  would  rather 
never  have  had  any.  If  there  is  anything  in  the 
world  besides  worth  that  I  reverence,  it  is  an- 
cestry. My  whole  life  long  have  I  been  in  search 
of  a  pedigree,  and  though  I  run  well  at  the  be- 
ginning, I  invariably  stop  short  at  the  third  re- 
move by  running  my  head  into  a  barber's  shop. 
If  he  had  only  been  a  farmer,  now,  I  should  not 
have  minded.  There  is  something  diornified  and 
antique  in  land,  and  no  one  need  trouble  himself 
to  ascertain  whether  "  farmer  "  stood  for  a  close- 
fisted,  narrow-souled  clodhopper,  or  the  smiling, 
benevolent  master  of  broad  acres.  Farmer  means 
both  these,  I  could  have  chosen  the  meaning  I 
liked,  and  it  is  not  probable  that  any  troublesome 
facts  would  have  floated  down  the  years  to  inter- 
cept any  theory  I  might  have  launched.  I  would 
rather  he  had  been  a  shoemaker  ;  it  would  have 
been  so  easy  to  transform  him,  after  his  lamented 
decease,  into  a  shoe-manufacturer,  —  and  shoe- 
manufacturers,  we  all  know,  are  highly  respectable 


MY  GARDEN.  57 

people,  often  become  great  men,  and  get  sent  to 
Congress.  An  apothecary  might  have  figured 
as  an  M.  D.  A  green-grocer  might  have  been 
snbhmated  into  a  merchant.  A  dancing-master 
would  flourish  on  the  family  records  as  a  professor 
of  the  Terpsichorean  art.  A  taker  of  daguerro- 
type  portraits  would  never  be  recognized  in  "  my 
great-grandfather  the  artisV^  But  a  barber  is  un- 
mitigated and  immitigable.  It  cannot  be  shaded 
off,  nor  toned  down,  nor  brushed  up.  Besides,  was 
greatness  ever  allied  to  barberity  ?  Shakespeare's 
father  was  a  wool-driver,  Tilldtson's  a  clothier, 
Barrow's  a  linen-draper,  Defoe's  a  butcher,  Mil- 
ton's a  scrivener,  Richardson's  a  joiner,  Burns's 
a  farmer ;  but  did  any  one  ever  hear  of  a  barber's 
having  remarkable  children  ?  I  must  say,  with 
all  deference  to  my  great-grandfather,  that  I  do 
wish  he  would  have  been  considerate  enough  of 
his  descendants'  feelings  to  have  been  born  in  the 
old  days  when  barbers  and  doctors  were  one,  or 
else  have  chosen  some  other  occupation  than  bar- 
bering.  Barber  he  did,  however ;  in  this  very  box 
he  kept  his  wigs,  and,  painful  as  it  was  to  have 
continually  before  my  eyes  this  perpetual  reminder 
of  plebeian  great-grand-paternity,  I  consented  to 
it  rather  than  lose  my  seeds.  Then  I  folded  my 
hands  in  sweet,  though  calm  satisfaction.  I  had 
proved  myself  equal  to  the  emergency,  and  that 
always  diffuses  a  glow  of  genial  complacency 
through  the  soul.     I  had  outwitted  Halicarnassus. 

3* 


58  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

Exultation  number  two.  He  had  designed  to 
cheat  me  out  of  my  garden  by  a  story  about  land, 
and  here  was  my  garden  ready  to  burst  forth  into 
blossom  under  my  eyes.  He  said  little,  but  I 
knew  he  felt  deeply.  I  caught  him  one  day  look- 
ing out  at  my  window  with  corroding  envy  in 
every  lineament.  "  You  might  have  got  some 
dust  out  of  the  road  ;  it  would  have  been  nearer." 
That  was  all  he  said.  Even  that  little  I  did  not 
fully  understand. 

I  watched,  and  waited,  and  watered,  in  silent 
expectancy,  for  several  days,  but  nothing  came  up, 
and  I  began  to  be  anxious.  Suddenly  I  thought 
of  my  vegetable-seeds,  and  determined  to  try 
those.  Of  course  a  hangino;  kitchen-garden  was 
not  to  be  thought  of,  and  as  Halicarnassus  was 
fortunately  absent  for  a  few  days,  I  prospected  on 
the  farm.  A  sunny  little  corner  on  a  southern 
slope  smiled  up  at  me,  and  seemed  to  offer  itself 
as  a  delightful  situation  for  the  diminutive  garden 
which  mine  must  be.  The  soil,  too,  seemed  as 
fine  and  mellow  as  could  be  desired.  I  at  once 
captured  an  Englishman  from  a  neighboring  plan- 
tation, hurried  him  into  my  corner,  and  bade  him 
dig  me  and  hoe  me  and  plant  me  a  garden  as  soon 
as  possible.  He  looked  blankly  at  me  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  I  looked  blankly  at  him,  wondering 
what  lion  he  saw  in  the  way. 

"Them  is  planted  with  potatoes  now,"  he 
gasped,  at  length. 


MY  GARDEN.  59 

"  No  matter,"  I  returned,  with  suddeji  relief  to 
find  that  nothing  but  potatoes  interfered.  "I 
want  it  to  be  unplanted,  and  planted  with  vegeta- 
bles,—  lettuce  and  —  asparagus  —  and  such.'* 

He  stood  hesitating. 

''  Will  the  master  like  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Diplomacy,  "  he  will  be  delighted." 

"  No  matter  whether  he  likes  it  or  not,"  codi- 
ciled  Conscience.     "  You  do  it." 

"I  —  don't  exactly  like  —  to  —  take  the  respon- 
sibility," wavered  this  modern  Faint-Heart. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  take  the  responsibility,"  I 
ejaculated,  with  volcanic  vehemence.  "  I  '11  take 
*he  responsibility.     You  take  the  hoe !  " 

These  duty-people  do  infuriate  me.  They  are 
so  afraid  to  do  anything  that  is  n't  laid  out  in  a 
right-angled  triangle.  Every  path  must  be  graded 
and  turfed  before  they  dare  set  their  scrupulous 
feet  in  it.  I  like  conscience,  but,  like  corn  and 
potatoes,  carried  too  far,  it  becomes  a  vice.  I 
think  I  could  commit  a  murder  with  less  hesitation 
than  some  people  buy  a  ninepenny  calico.  And  to 
see  that  man  stand  here,  balancing  probabilities 
over  a  piece  of  ground  no  bigger  than  a  bed-quilt, 
as  if  a  nation's  fate  were  at  stake,  was  enough  to 
ruffle  a  calmer  temper  than  mine.  My  impetuosity 
impressed  him,  however,  and  he  began  to  lay  about 
him  vigorously  with  hoe  and  rake  and  lines,  and, 
in  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time,  had  a  bit  of 
square  flatness  laid  out  with  wonderful  precision. 


60  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

Meanwhile  I  Lad  ransacked  my  vegetable-bag, 
and,  though  lettuce  and  asparagus  were  not  there, 
plenty  of  beets  and  parsnips  and  squashes,  etc. 
were.  I  let  him  take  his  choice.  He  took  the 
first  two.  The  rest  were  left  on  my  hands.  But 
I  had  gone  too  far  to  recede.  They  burned  in  my 
pocket  for  a  few  days,  and  I  saw  that  I  must  get 
them  into  the  ground  somewhere.  I  could  not 
sleep  with  them  in  the  room.  They  were  wander- 
ing shades,  craving  at  my  hands  a  burial,  and  I 
determined  to  put  them  where  Banquo's  ghost 
would  not  go,  —  down.  Down  accordingly  they 
went,  but  not  symmetrically  nor  simultaneously. 
I  faced  Halicarnassus  on  the  subject  of  the  beet- 
bed,  and  though  I  cannot  say  that  either  of  us 
gained  a  brilliant  victory,  yet  I  can  say  that  I 
kept  possession  of  the  ground ;  still,  I  did  not  care 
to  risk  a  second  encounter.  So  I  kept  my  seeds 
about  me  continually,  and  dropped  them  surrep- 
titiously as  occasion  offered.  Consequently,  my 
garden,  taken  as  a  whole,  was  located  where  the 
Penobscot  Indian  was  born,  —  "all  along  shore." 
The  squashes  were  scattered  among  the  corn. 
The  beans  were  tucked  under  the  brushwood, 
in  the  fond  hope  that  they  would  climb  up  it. 
Two  tomato-plants  were  lodged  in  the  potato-field, 
under  the  protection  of  some  broken  apple-branches 
dragged  thither  for  the  purpose.  The  cucumbers 
went  down  on  the  sheltered  side  of  a  wood-pile. 
The  peas  took  their  chances  of  life  under  the  sink- 


MY  GARDEN.  61 

nose.  The  sweet-corn  was  marked  off  from  the 
rest  by  a  broomstick,  —  and  all  took  root  alike 
in  my  heart. 

May  I  ask  you  now,  O  friend,  who,  I  would 
fain  believe,  have  followed  me  thus  far  with  no 
hostile  eyes,  to  glide  in  tranced  forgetfulness 
through  the  white  blooms  of  May  and  the  roses 
of  June,  into  the  warm  breath  of  July  afternoons 
and  the  languid  pulse  of  August,  perhaps  even 
into  the  mild  haze  of  September  and  the  "  flying 
gold  "  of  brown  October  ?  In  narrating  to  you 
the  fruition  of  my  hopes,  I  shall  endeavor  to  pre- 
serve that  calm  equanimity  which  is  the  birthright 
of  royal  minds.  I  shall  endeavor  not  to  be  un- 
duly elated  by  success  nor  unduly  depressed  by 
failure,  but  to  state  in  simple  language  the  result 
of  my  experiments,  both  for  an  encouragement  and 
a  warning.  I  shall  give  the  history  of  the  several 
ventures  separately,  as  nearly  as  I  can  recollect 
in  the  order  in  which  they  grew,  beginning  with 
the  humbler  ministers  to  our  appetites,  and  soar- 
ing gradually  into  the  region  of  the  poetical  and 
the  beautiful. 

Beets.  —  The  beets  came  up,  little  red- veined 
leaves,  struggling  for  breath  among  a  tangle  of 
Roman  wormwood  and  garlic ;  and  though  they 
exibited  great  tenacity  of  life,  they  also*  exibited 
great  irregularity  of  purpose.  In  one  spot  there 
would  be  nothing,  in  an  adjacent  spot  a  whorl  of 


62  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

beets,  big  and  little,  crowding  and  jostling  and 
elbowing  each  other,  like  school-boys  round  the 
red-hot  stove  on  a  winter's  morning.  I  knew  they 
had  been  planted  in  a  right  line,  and  I  don't  even 
now  comprehend  why  they  should  not  come  up  in 
a  right  line.  I  weeded  them,  and  though  freedom 
from  foreign  growth  discovered  an  intention  of 
straightness,  the  most  casual  observer  could  not 
but  see  that  skewiness  had  usurped  its  place.  I 
repaired  to  my  friend  the  gardener.  He  said  they 
must  be  thinned  out  and  transplanted.  It  went  to 
my  heart  to  pull  up  the  dear  things,  but  I  did  it, 
and  set  them  down  again  tenderly  in  the  vacant 
spots.  It  was  evening.  The  next  morning  I  went 
to  them.  Flatness  has  a  new  meaning  to  me  since 
that  morning.  You  can  hardly  conceive  that  any- 
thing could  look  so  utterly  forlorn,  disconsolate, 
disheartened,  and  collapsed.  In  fact,  they  exhib- 
ited a  degree  of  depression  so  entirely  beyond  what 
the  circumstances  demanded, 'that  I , was  enraged. 
If  they  had  shown  any  symptoms  of  trying  to  live, 
I  could  have  sighed  and  forgiven  tliem ;  but,  on 
the  contrary,  they  had  flopped  and  died  without  a 
struggle,  and  I  pulled  them  up  without  a  pang, 
comforting  myself  with  the  remaining  ones,  which 
throve  on  their  companions'  graves,  and  waxed  fat 
and  full  and  crimson-hearted,  in  their  soft,  brown 
beds.  So  delighted  was  I  with  their  luxuriant 
rotundity,  that  I  made  an  internal  resolve  that 
henceforth  I  would  always  plant  beets.     True,  I 


MY  GARDEN.  63 

cannot  abide  beets.  Their  fragrance  and  their  fla- 
vor are  ahke  nauseating ;  but  they  come  up,  and  a 
beet  that  will  come  up  is  better  than  a  cedar  of 
Lebanon  that  won't.  In  all  the  vegetable  kingdom 
I  know  of  no  quality  better  than  this,  growth,  — 
nor  any  quality  that  will  atone  for  its  absence. 

Parsnips.  —  They  ran  the  race  with  an  inde- 
scribable vehemence  that  fairl}^  threw  the  beets 
into  the  shade.  They  trod  so  delicately  at  first 
that  I  was  quite  unprepared  for  such  enthusiasm. 
Lacking  the  red  veining,  I  could  not  distinguish 
them  from  the  weeds  with  any  certainty,  and 
was  forced  to  let  both  grow  together  till  the  har- 
vest. So  both  grew  together,  a  perfect  jungle. 
But  the  parsnips  got  ahead,  and  rushed  up  glo- 
riously, magnificently,  bacchanalianly,  ^- —  as  the 
winds  come  when  forests  are  rended,  —  as  the 
waves  come  when  navies  are  stranded.  I  am, 
indeed,  troubled  with  a  suspicion  that* their  vital- 
ity has  all  run  to  leaves,  and  that,  when  I  go 
down  into  the  depths  of  the  earth  for  the  parsnips, 
I  shall  find  only  bread  of  emptiness.  It  is  a  pleas- 
ing reflection  that  parsnips  cannot,  b^  ea^en  till 
the  second  year.  I  aiji  told  that  they  must  lie 
in  the  ground  during  the  winter.  -  Consequently 
it  cannot  be  decided  whether  there  are  any  or 
not  till  next  spring.  I  shall  in  the  mean  tim^ 
assume  and  assert,  without  hesitation  or  qualifica- 
tion,   that  there  are    as    many  tubers    below  the 


64  COUNTRY  LIVING., 

surface  as  there  are  leaves  above  it.  I  shall 
thereby  enjoy  a  pleasant  consciousness,  and  the 
respect  of  all,  for  the  v^inter ;  and  if  disappoint- 
ment awaits  me  in  the  spring,  time  will  have 
blunted  its  keenness  for  me,  and  other  people 
will  have  forgotten  the  whole  subject.  You  may 
be  sure  I  shall  not  remind  them  of  it. 

Cucumbers.  —  The  cucumbers  came  up  so  far, 
and  stuck.  It  must  have  been  innate  depravity, 
for  there  was  no  shadow  of  reason  why  they 
should  not  keep  on  as  they  began.  They  did 
not.  They  stopped  growing  in  the  prime  of  life. 
Only  three  cucumbers  developed,  and  they  hid 
under  the  vines*  so  that  I  did  not  see  them  till 
they  were  become  ripe,  yellow,  soft,  and  worth- 
less. They  are  an  unwholesome  fruit  at  best, 
and  I  bore  their  loss  with  great -fortitude. 

Tomatoes.  —  Both  dead.  I  had  been  instructed 
to  protect  them  from  the  frost  by  night  and  from 
the  sun  by  day.  I  intended  to  do  so  ultimately, 
but  I  did  not  suppose  there  was  any  emergency. 
A  frost  came  the  first  night  and  killed  them, 
and  a  hot  sun  the  next  day  burned  up  all  there 
was  left.  When  they  were  both  thoroughly 
dead,  I  took  great  pains  to  cover  them  every 
night  and  noon.  No  symptoms  of  revival  ap- 
pearing to  reward  my  efforts,  I  left  them  to 
shift  for  themselves.     I  did  not  think  there  was 


MY  GARDEN.  65 

any  need  of  their  dying  in  the  first  place ;  and 
if  they  would  be  so  absurd  as  to  die  without 
provocation,  I  did  not  see  the  necessity  of  going 
into  a  decline  about  it.  Besides,  I  never  did 
value  plants  or  animals  that  have  to  be  nursed, 
and  petted,  and  coaxed  to  live.  If  things  want 
to  die,  I  think  they  'd  better  die.  Provoked 
by  my  indifference,  one  of  the  tomatoes  flared 
up,  and  took  a  new  start,  —  put  forth  leaves,  shot 
out  vines,  and  covered  himself  with  fruit  and 
glory.  The  chickens  picked  out  the  heart  of  all 
the  tomatoes  as  soon  as  they  ripened,  which  was 
of  no  consequence,  however,  as  they  had  wasted 
so  much  time  in  the  beginning  that  the  autumn- 
frosts  came  upon  them  unawares,  and  there 
would  n't  have  been  fruit  enough  ripe .  to  be  of 
any  account,  if  no  chicken  had  ever  broken  a 
shell. 

Squashes.  —  They  appeared  above-ground, 
large-lobed  and  vigorous.  Large  and  vigorous 
appeared  the  bugs,  all  gleaming  in  green  and 
gold,  like  the  wolf  on  the  fold,  and  stopped  up 
all  the  stomata  and  ate  up  all  the  parenchyma, 
till  my  squash-leaves  looked  as  if  they  had  grown 
for  the  sole  purpose  of  illustrating  net-veined  or- 
ganizations. In  consternation  I  sought  again  my 
neighbor  the  Englishman.  He  assured  me  he 
had  'em  on  his,  too,  —  lots  of  'em.  This  rec- 
onciled  me   to   mine.     Bugs   are   not   inherently 


66  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

desirable,  but  a  universal  bug  does  not  indicate 
special  want  of  skill  in  any  one.  So  I  was  com- 
forted. But  tlie  Englishman  said  they  must  be 
killed.  He  had  killed  his.  Then  I  said  I  would 
kill  mine,  too.  How  should  it  be  done?  O, 
put  a  shingle  near  the  vine  at  night,  and  they 
would  crawl  upon  it  to  keep  dry,  and  go  out 
early  in  the  morning  and  kill  'em.  But  how  to 
kill  them?  Why,  take  'em  right  between  your 
thumb  and  finger  and  crush  'em! 

As  soon  as  I  could  recover  breath,  I  informed 
him  confidentially,  that,  if  the  world  were  one 
great  squash,  I  would  n't  undertake  to  save  it  in 
that  way.  He  smiled  a  little,  but  I  think  he  was 
not  overmuch  pleased.  I  asked  him  why  I  could 
n't  take  a  bucket  of  water  and  dip  the  shingle  in 
it  and  drown  them.  He  said,  well,  I  could  try  it. 
I  did  try*it,  —  first  wrapping  my  hand  in  a  cloth 
to  prevent  contact  with  any  stray  bug.  To  my 
amazement,  the  moment  they  touched  the  water 
they  all  spread  unseen  wings  and  flew  away,  safe 
and  sound.  I  should  not  have  been  much  more 
surprised  to  see  Halicarnassus  soaring  over  the 
ridge-pole.  I  had  not  the  slightest  idea  that  they 
could  fly.  Of  course  I  gave  up  the  design  of 
drowning  them.  I  called  a  council  of  war.  One 
said  I  must  put  a  newspaper  over  them  and  fasten 
it  down  at  the  edges ;  then  they  could  n't  get  in. 
I  timidly  suggested  that  the  squashes  could  n't  get 
out.    Yes,  they  could,  he  said,  —  they  'd  grow  right 


MY  GARDEN.  67 

through  the  paper.  Another  said  I  must  surround 
them  with  round  boxes  with  the  bottoms  broken 
out ;  for,  though  they  could  fly,  they  could  n't  steer, 
and  when  they  flew  up  they  just  dropped  down 
anywhere,  and  as  there  was  on  the  whole  a  good 
deal  more  land  on  the  outside  of  the  bcPxes  than  on 
the  inside,  the  chances  were  in  favor  of  their  drop- 
ping on  the  outside.  Another  said  that  ashes  must 
be  sprinkled  on  them.  A  fourth  said  lime  was  an 
infallible  remedy.  I  began  with  the  paper,  which 
I  secured  with  no  little  difficulty  ;  for  the  wind  — 
the  same  wind,  strange  to  say  —  kept  blowing  the 
dirt  at  me  and  the  paper  away  from  me  ;  but  I 
consoled  myself  by  remembering  the  numberless 
rows  of  squash-pies  that  should  crown  my  labors, 
and  May  took  heart  from  Thanksgiving.  The 
next  day  I  peeped  under  the  paper,  and  the  bugs 
were  a  solid  phalanx.  I  reported  at  head-quar- 
ters, and  they  asked  me  if  I  killed  the  bugs  before 
I  put  the  paper  down.  I  said  no,  I  supposed  it 
would  stifle  them,  —  in  fact,  I  did  not  think  any- 
thing about  it,  but  if  I  had  thought  anything, 
that  was  what  I  thought.  I  was  not  pleased  to 
find  I  had  been  cultivating^  the  buo-s  and  furnish- 
ing  them  with  free  lodgings.  I  went  home,  and 
tried  all  the  remedies  in  succession.  I  could 
hardly  decide  which  agreed  best  with  the  structure 
and  habits  of  the  bugs,  but  they  throve  on  all. 
Then  I  tried  them  all  at  once  and  all  o'er  with  a 
mighty  uproar.      Presently  the  bugs  went  away. 


68  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

I  am  not  sure  that  they  would  not  have  gone  just 
as  soon,  if  I  had  let  them  alone.  After  they  were 
gone,  the  vines  scrambled  out  and  put  forth  some 
beautiful,  deep-golden  blossoms.  When  they  fell 
off,  that  was  the  end  of  them.  Not  a  squash,  — 
not  one,  — ^  not  a  single  squash,  —  not  even  a 
pumpkin.     They  were  all  false  blossoms. 

Apples.  —  The  trees  swelled  into  masses  of 
pink  and  white  fragrance.  Nothing  could  ex- 
ceed tlieir  fluttering  loveliness  or  their  luxuriant 
promise.  A  few  days  of  fairy  beauty,  and  showers 
of  soft  petals  floated  noiselessly  down,  covering  the 
earth  with  delicate  snow  ;  but  I  knew,  that,  though 
the  first  blush  of  beauty  was  gone,  a  mighty  work 
was  going  on  in  a  million  little  laboratories,  and 
that  the  real  glory  was  yet  to  come.  I  was  sur- 
prised to  observe,  one  day,  that  the  trees  seemed 
to  be  turning  red.  I  remarked  to  Halicarnassus 
that  that  was  one  of  Nature's  processes  which  I 
did  not  remember  to  have  seen  noticed  in  any 
botanical  treatise.  I  thought  such  a  change  did 
not  occur  till  autumn.  Halicarnassus  curved  the 
thumb  and  forefinger  of  his  right  hand  into  an 
arch,  the  ends  of  which  rested  on  the  wrist  of 
his  left  coat-sleeve.  He  then  lifted  the  forefinger 
high  and  brought  it  forward.  Then  he  hfted  the 
thumb  and  brought  it  up  behind  the  forefinger, 
and  so  made  them  travel  up  to  his  elbow.  It 
seemed   to   require   considerable    exertion   in   the 


MY  GARDEN.  69 

thumb  and  forefinger,  and  I  watched  the  progress 
with  interest.  Then  I  asked  him  what  he  meant 
by  it. 

"  That 's  the  way  they  walk,"  he  replied. 

"  Who  walk  ?  " 

'■  The  little  fellows  that  have  squatted  on  our 
trees." 

*'  What  little  fellows  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  The  canker-worms  ?  " 

"  How  many  are  there  ?  " 

"  About  twenty-five  decillions,  I  should  think, 
as  near  as  I  can  count." 

"  Why  !  what  are  they  for  ?  What  good  do 
they  do  ?  " 

"  O,  no  end.  Keep  the  children  from  eating 
green  apples  and  getting  sick." 

"  How  do  they  do  that  ?  " 

"  Eat  'em  themselves." 

A  frightful  idea  dawned  upon  me.  I  believe  I 
turned  a  kind  of  ghastly  blue. 

"  Halicarnassus,  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that 
the  canker-worms  are  eating  up  our  apples,  and 
that  we  shan't  have  any?" 

"  It  looks  like  that  exceedingly." 

That  was  months  ago,  and  it  looks  a  great  deal 
more  like  it  now.  I  watched  those  trees  with 
sadness  at  my  heart.  Millions  of  brown,  ugly, 
villanous  worms  gnawed,  gnawed,  gnawed,  at  the 
poor  little  tender  leaves  and  buds,  —  held  them 
in  foul  embrace, — polluted  their  sweetness  with 


70  COUNTRY  LIVING, 

hateful  breath.  I  could  almost  feel  the  shudder 
of  the  trees  in  that  slimy  clasp,  —  could  almost 
hear  the  shrieking  and  moaning  of  the  young  fruit 
that  saw  its  hope  of  happy  life  thus  slowly  con- 
suming ;  but  I  was  powerless  to  save.  For  weeks 
that  loathsome  army  preyed  upon  the  unhappy, 
helpless  trees,  and  then  spun  loathsomely  to  the 
ground,  and  buried  itself  in  the  reluctant,  shud- 
dering soil.  A  few^  dismal  little  apples  escaped 
the  common  fate  ;  but  when  they  rounded  into 
greenness  and  a  suspicion  of  pulp,  a  boring  worm 
came  and  bored  them,  and  they  too  died.  No 
apple-pies  at  Thanksgiving.  No  apple-roasting  in 
winter  evenings.  No  pan-pie  with  hot  brown 
bread  on  Sunday  mornings. 

Cherries.  —  They  rivalled  the  apple-blooms  in 
snowy  profusion,  and  the  branches  were  covered 
with  tiny  balls.  The  sun  mounted  warm  and  high 
in  the  heavens,  and  they  blushed  under  his  ardent 
gaze.  I  felt  an  increasing  conviction  that  here 
there  would  be  no  disappointment ;  but  it  soon 
became  palpable  that  another  class  of  depredators 
had  marked  our  trees  for  their  own.  Little  brown 
toes  could  occasionally  be  seen  peeping  from  the 
foliage,  and  little  bare  feet  left  their  print  on  the 
garden-soil.  Humanity  had  evidently  deposited 
its  larva  in  the  vicinity.  There  was  a  school- 
house  not  very  far  away,  and  the  children  used 
to  draw  water  from  an  old  well  in  a  distant  part 


MY  GARDEN.  71 

of  the  garden.  It  was  surprising  to  see  how 
thirsty  they  all  became  as  the  cherries  ripened. 
It  was  as  if  the  village  had  simultaneously  agreed 
to  breakfast  on  salt  fish.  Their  wooden  bucket 
might  have  been  the  urn  of  the  Danaides,  judging 
from  the  time  it  took  to  fill  it.  The  boys  were  as 
fleet  of  foot  as  young  zebras,  and  presented  upon 
discovery  no  apology  or  justification  but  their 
heels,  —  which  was  a  wise  stroke  in  them.  A 
troop  of  rosy-cheeked,  bright-eyed  little  snips  in 
white  pantalets,  caught  in  the  act,  reasoned  with 
in  a  semicircle,  and  cajoled  with  candy,  were  as 
sweet  as  distilled  honey,  and  promised  with  all 
their  innocent  hearts  and  hands  not  to  do  so  any 
more. 

Then  the  cherries  were  allowed  to  hang  on  the 
trees  and  ripen.  It  took  them  a  great  while.  If 
they  had  been  as  big  as  hogsheads,  I  should  think 
the  sun  might  have  got  through  them  sooner  than 
he  did.  They  looked  ripe  long  before  they  were 
so  ;  and,  as  they  were  very  plenty,  the  trees  pre- 
sented a  beautiful  appearance.  I  bought  a  stack  of 
fantastic  little  baskets  from  a  travelling  Indian  tribe, 
at  a  fabulous  price,  for  the  sake  of  fulfilling  my 
long-cherished  design  of  sending  fruit  to  my  city 
friends.  After  long  waiting,  Halicarnassus  came 
in  one  morning  with  a  tin  pail  full,  and  said  that 
they  were  ripe  at  last,  for  they  were  turning  purple 
and  falling  off;  and  he  was  going  to  have  them 
gathered  at  once.      He  had  brought  in  the  first- 


72  COUNTRY  LIVING, 

jfruits  for  breakfast.  I  put  them  in  the  best  pre- 
serve-dish, twined  it  with  myrtle,  and  set  it  in 
the  centre  of  the  table.  It  looked  charming,  — 
so  ruddy  and  rural  and  Arcadian.  I  wished  we 
could  breakfast  out-doors  ;  but  the  summer  was 
one  of  unusual  severity,  and  it  was  hardly  prudent 
thus  to  brave  its  rigor.  We  had  cup-custards  at 
the  close  of  our  breakfast  that  morning,  —  very 
vulgar,  but  very  delicious.  We  reached  the 
cherries  at  the  same  moment,  and  swallowed  the 
first  one  simultaneously.  The  effect  was  instan- 
taneous and  electric,  Halicarnassus  puckered  his 
face  into  a  perfect  wheel,  with  his  mouth  for  the 
hub.  I  don't  know  how  I  looked,  but  I  felt  badly 
enouo^h. 

"It  was  unfortunate  that  we  had  custards  this 
morning,"  I  remarked.  "  They  are  so  sweet  that 
the  cherries  seem  sour  by  contrast.  We  shall 
soon  get  the  sweet  taste  out  of  our  mouths,  how- 
ever." 

"  That 's  so ! "  said  Halicarnassus,  who  will  be 
coarse. 

We  tried  another.  He  exhibited  a  similar  pan- 
tomime, with  improvements.  My  feelings  were 
also  the  same,  intensified. 

"  I  am  not  in  luck  to-day,"  I  said,  attempting 
to  smile.  "  I  got  hold  of  a  sour  cherry  this 
time." 

"  I  got  hold  of  a  bitter  one,"  said  Halicarnassus. 

"  Mine  was  a  little  bitter,  too,"  I  added. 


MY  GARDEN.  73 

*'  Mine  was  a  little  sour,  too,"  said  Halicar- 
nassus. 

"  We  shall  have  to  try  again,"  said  I. 

We  did  try  again. 

''  Mine  was  a  good  deal  of  both  this  time,"  said 
Halicarnassus.  "  But  we  will  give  them  a  fair 
trial." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  sepulchrally. 

We  sat  there  sacrificing  ourselves  to  abstract 
right  for  five  minutes.  Then  I  leaned  back  in 
my  chair,  and  looked  at  Halicarnassus.  He 
rested  his  right  elbow  on  the  table,  and  looked 
at  me. 

"  Well,"  said  he  at  last,  "  how  are  cherries 
and  things?" 

"  Halicarnassus,"  said  I,  solemnly,  "  it  is  my 
firm  conviction  that  farming  is  not  a  lucrative 
occupation.  You  have  no  certain  assurance  of 
return,  either  for  labor  or  capital  invested.  Look 
at  it.  The  bugs  eat  up  the  squashes.  The 
worms  eat  up  the  apples.  The  cucumbers  won't 
grow  at  all.  The  peas  have  got  lost.  The  cher- 
ries are  bitter  as  wormwood  and  sour  as  you  in 
your  worst  moods.  Everything  that  is  good  for 
anything  won't  grow,  and  everything  that  grows 
isn't  good  for  anything." 

"  My  Indian  com,  though,"  began  Halicarnas- 
sus ;  but  I  snapped  him  up  before  he  was  fairly 
under  way.  I  had  no  idea  of  travelling  in  that 
direction. 


74  COUNTRY  LIVING, 

"  "What  am  I  to  do  with  all  those  baskets  that 
I  bought,  I  should  like  to  know  ? "  I  asked, 
sharply. 

*'  What  did  you  buy  them  for  ?  "  he  asked  in 
return. 

"  To  send  cherries  to  the  Hudsons  and  the 
Mavericks  and  Fred  Ashley,"  I  replied  promptly. 

"  Why  don't  you  send  'em,  then  ?  There 's 
plenty  of  them,  —  more  than  we  shall  want." 

"  Because,"  I  answered,  "  I  have  not  exhausted 
the  pleasures  of  friendship.  Nor  do  I  perceive 
the  benefit  that  would  accrue  from  turning  hfe- 
long  friends  into  life-long  enemies." 

"I  '11  tell  you  what  we  can  do,"  said  Halicar- 
nassus.  "  We  can  give  a  party  and  treat  them  to 
cherries.  They  '11  have  to  eat  'em  out  of  polite- 
ness." 

"  Halicarnassus,"  said  I,  "  we  should  be  mobbed. 
We  should  fall  victims  to  the  fury  of  a  disap- 
pointed and  enraged  populace." 

"  At  any  rate,"  said  he,  "  we  can  offer  them  to 
chance  visitors." 

The  suggestion  seemed  to  me  a  good  one,  —  at 
any  rate,  the  only  one  that  held  out  any  prospect 
of  relief.  Thereafter,  whenever  friends  called  sin- 
gly or  in  squads,  —  if  the  squads  were  not  large 
enough  to  be  formidable,  —  we  invariably  set  cher- 
ries before  them,  and  with  generous  hospitality 
pressed  them  to  partake.  The  varying  phases  of 
emotion  which  they  exhibited  were  painful  to  me 


MY  GARDEN.  75 

at  first,  but  I  at  length  came  to  taKe  a  morbid 
pleasure  in  noting  them.  It  was  a  study  for  a 
sculptor.  By  long  practice  I  learned  to  detect 
the  shadow  of  each  coming  change,  where  a  cas- 
ual observer  would  see  only  a  serene  expanse  of 
placid  politeness.  I  knew  just  where  the  radi- 
ance, awakened  by  the  luscious,  swelling,  crim- 
son globes,  faded  into  doubt,  settled  into  certainty, 
glared  into  perplexity,  fired  into  rage.  I  saw 
the  grimace,  suppressed  as  soon  as  begun,  but 
not  less  patent  to  my  preternaturally  keen  eyes. 
No  one  deceived  me  by  being  suddenly  seized 
with  admiration  of  a  view.  I  knew  it  was  only 
to  relieve  his  nerves  by  making  faces  behind  the 
window-curtains. 

I  grew  to  take  a  fiendish  delight  in  watching 
the  conflict,  and  the  fierce  desperation  which 
marked  its  violence.  On  the  one  side  were  the 
forces  of  fusion,  a  reluctant  stomach,  an  unwill- 
ing sesophagus,  a  loathing  palate ;  on  the  other, 
the  stern,  unconquerable  will.  A  natural  philos- 
opher would  have  gathered  new  proofs  of  the  un- 
limited capacity  of  the  human  race  to  adapt  itself 
to  circumstances,  from  the  debris  that  strewed 
our  premises  after  each  fresh  departure.  Cher- 
ries were  chucked  under  the  sofa,  into  the  table- 
drawers,  behind  the  books,  under  the  lamp-mats, 
into  the  vases,  in  any  and  every  place  where  a 
dexterous  hand  could  dispose  of  them  without 
detection.      Yet   their   number   seemed   to   sufftT 


76  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

no  abatement.  Like  Tityus's  liver,  they  were 
constantly  renewed,  though  constantly  consumed. 
The  small  boys  seemed  to  be  suffering  from  a  fit 
of  conscience.  In  vain  we  closed  the  blinds  and 
shut  ourselves  up  in  the  house  to  give  them  a  fair 
field.  Not  a  cherry  was  taken.  In  vain  we  went 
ostentatiously  to  church  all  day  on  Sunday.  Not 
a  twig  was  touched.  Finally  I  dropped  all  the 
curtains  on  that  side  of  the  house,  and  avoided 
that  part  of  the  garden  in  my  walks.  The  cher- 
ries may  be  hanging  there  to  this  day,  for  aught 
I  know. 

But  why  do  I  thus  linger  over  the  sad  recital  ? 
"  Ah  uno  disce  omnes.^^  (A  quotation  from  Vir- 
gil :  means,  "  All  of  a  piece.")  There  may  have 
been,  there  probably  was,  an  abundance  of  sweet- 
corn,  but  the  broomstick  that  had  marked  the  spot 
was  lost,  and  I  could  in  no  wise  recall  either  spot 
or  stick.  Nor  did  I  ever  see  or  hear  of  the  peas, 
—  or  the  beans.  If  our  chickens  could  be  brought 
to  the  witness-box,  they  might  throw  light  on  the 
subject.  As  it  is,  I  drop  a  natural  tear,  and  pass 
on  to 

The  Flovster- Garden.  —  It  appeared  very 
much  behind  time,  —  chiefly  Roman  wormwood. 
I  was  grateful  even  for  that.  Then  two  rows 
of  four-o'-clocks  became  visible  to  the  naked  eye. 
They  are  cryptogamous,  it  seems.  Botanists  have 
hitherto   classed   them   among  the   Phsenogamia. 


MY  GARDEN.  77 

A  sweet-pea  and  a  china-aster  dawdled  up  just 
in  time  to  get  frost-bitten.  "  ^t  proeterea  nihiV^ 
(Virgil:  means,  "That's  all.")  I  am  sure  it 
was  no  fault  of  mine.  I  tended  my  seeds  with 
assiduous  care.  My  devotion  was  unwearied. 
I  was  a  very  slave  to  their  caprices.  I  planted 
them  just  beneath  the  surface  in  the  first  place, 
so  that  they  might  have  an  easy  passage.  In 
two  or  three  days  they  all  seemed  to  be  lying 
round  loose  on  the  top,  and  I  planted  them  an 
inch  deep.  Then  I  did  n't  see  them  at  all  for  so 
long  that  I  took  them  up  again,  and  planted  them 
half-way  between.  It  was  of  no  use.  You  can- 
not suit  people  or  plants  that  are  determined  not 
to  be  suited. 

Yet,  sad  as  my  story  is,  I  cannot  regret  that  I 
came  into  the  country  and  attempted  a  garden. 
It  has  been  fruitful  in  lessons,  if  in  nothing  else. 
I  have  seen  how  every  evil  has  its  compensating 
good.  When  I  am  tempted  to  repine  that  my 
squashes  did  not  grow,  I  reflect,  that,  if  they  had 
grown,  they  would  probably  have  all  turned  into 
pumpkins,  or  if  they  had  stayed  squashes,  they 
would  have  been  stolen.  When  it  seems  a  myste- 
rious Providence  that  kept  all  my  young  hopes 
underground,  I  reflect  how  fine  an  illustration  I 
should  otherwise  have  lost  of  what  Kossuth  calls 
the  solidarity  of  the  human  race,  —  what  Paul 
alludes  to,  when  he  says,  if  one  member  suffer, 
all   the  members   suffer  with  it.      I  recall  with 


78  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

grateful  tears  the  sympathy  of  my  neighbors  on  the 
right  hand  and  on  the  left,  —  expressed  not  only 
by  words,  but  by  deeds.  In  my  mind's  eye, 
Horatio,  I  see  again  the  baskets  of  apples,  and 
pears,  and  tomatoes,  and  strawberries,  —  squashes 
too  heavy  to  lift,  —  and  corn  sweet  as  the  dews  of 
Hymettus,  that  bore  daily  witness  of  human  broth- 
erhood. I  remember,  too,  the  victory  which  I 
gained  over  my  own  depraved  nature.  I  saw  my 
neighbor  prosper  in  everything  he  undertook.  Ni- 
hil tetigit  quod  non  crevit.  Fertility  found  in  his 
soil  its  congenial  home,  and  spanned  it  with  rain- 
bow hues.  Every  day  I  walked  by  his  garden  and 
saw  it  putting  on  its  strength,  its  beautiful  gar- 
ments. I  had  not  even  the  small  satisfaction  of 
reflecting  that,  amid  all  his  splendid  success,  his  life 
was  cold  and  cheerless,  while  mine,  amid  all  its 
failures,  was  full  of  warmth,  —  a  reflection  which, 
I  have  often  observed,  seems  to  go  a  great  way 
towards  making  a  person  contented  with  his  lot,  — 
for  he  had  a  lovely  wife,  promising  children,  and 
the  whole  village  for  his  friends.  Yet,  notwith- 
standing all  these  obstacles,  I  learned  to  look  over 
his  garden-wall  with  sincere  joy. 

There  is  one  provocation,  however,  which  I 
cannot  yet  bear  with  equanimity,  and  which  I  do 
not  believe  I  shall  ever  meet  without  at  least  a 
spasm  of  wrath,  even  if  my  Christian  character 
shall  ever  become  strong  enough  to  preclude  abso- 
lute tetanus  ;  and  I  do  hereby  beseech  all  persons 


MY  GARDEN. 


79 


who  would  not  be  guilty  of  the  sin  of  Jeroboam 
who  made  Israel  to  sin,  who  do  not  wish  to  have 
on   their  hands    the   burden    of  my  ruined   tem- 
per, to  let  me  go  quietly  down  into  the  valley  of 
humiliation    and   oblivion,    and   not   pester 
me,  as  they  have  hitherto  done  from 
all  parts  of  the  North- American 
continent,  with  the  infuriating 
question,  "  How  did  you 
get  on  with  your 
garden  ?  " 


Men  and  Women. 


HAVE  read  that  a  stranger,  passing 
through  certain  portions  of  New  Hamp- 
shire, was  deeply  impressed  with  the 
rocky  nature  of  the  soil  and  scenery, 
and  inquired  of  a  laborer  whom  he  met,  "  What 
in  the  world  can  you  raise  in  a  country  like  this  ?  " 
"  We  raise  men,  sir  !  "  was  the  prompt  reply.  I 
am  free  to  confess  that  this  sounds  to  me  very 
much  like  a  made-up  story;  but  it  will  answer 
my  purpose  just  as  well,  which  is  simply  to  in- 
troduce the  fact,  that,  not  having  found  in  agricul- 
tural pursuits  that  eminent  satisfaction  which  I  had 
pictured,  I  occasionally  divert  myself  with  specu- 
lations touching  men  and  women.  After  close 
observation  and  mature  deliberation,  I  have  come 
to  the  conclusion  that,  on  the  whole,  men  occupy 
vantage-groun  d . 

I  like  women.  I  love  them.  I  glory  in  them. 
What  sight  can  be  more  impressive  than  one  of 
those  magnificent  creations  we  often  read  of,  and 
occasionally  see,  —  stately,  grand,  epic,  —  with  the 


MEN  AND    WOMEN.  81 

blackness  and  beauty  of  night  in  the  matchless 
locks  that  sweep  over  the  calm,  still  brow,  and 
all  the  starry  splendor  of  a  thousand  nights  in  the 
eyes  that  burn  beneath  ?  What  can  be  more  cap- 
tivating than  the  opening  life  of  a  gay  little  blonde, 
from  whose  soft  curls  the  flutter  never  quite  dies 
out,  whose  dimpling  smile  is  only  less  sweet  than 
her  tender  pensiveness  ?  Or,  passing  from  these 
types  of  an  extinct  womanhood,  whose  departing 
left  but  few  traces,  we  see  every  day  pretty,  grace- 
ful, and  elegant  women ;  some  neat,  simple,  and 
indistinctly  limned ;  some  standing  out  in  bold  re- 
lief, with  regal  adorn ings  ;  and  in  our  daily  walks 
we  jostle  against  countless  heroines,  —  self-sacri- 
ficing wives,  devoted  mothers,  noble  maidens,  who 
bear  a  hidden  grief,  who  wrestle  with  a  secret  foe, 
who  silently,  if  need  be,  brave  the  sneer  of  the 
world,  who  will  die  and  give  no  sign,  —  and  we 
cannot  choose  but  admire.  Still,  narrowing  the 
question  down  to  a  point,  this  is  the  conclusion 
of  the  whole  matter,  —  high  or  low,  rich  or  poor, 
bond  or  free. 

There  is  nothing  so  splendid  as  a  splendid  man  ! 

I  need  not  search  the  pages  of  history  for  facts 
to  confirm  my  position.  I  need  not  point  you  to 
Mozart,  king  in  the  realms  of  song  ;  to  Napoleon, 
"  wrapped  in  the  solitude  of  his  own  originality  "  ; 
to  John  Bunyan,  standing  alone  on  his  Delectable 
Mountains  ;  to  Milton,  thrusting  his  wives  behind 

4*  p 


82  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

him  when  he  entered  Paradise.  They  are  con- 
fessedly unapproached  and  inapproachable,  and 
therefore  would  in  no  wise  strengthen  my  case  ; 
for  they  are  unique,  not  as  regards  women  only, 
but  the  whole  human  race.  To  be  a  man  does 
not  necessarily  imply  to  be  a  Milton.  Eighteen 
hundred  years  furnished  but  one  Napoleon.  John 
Smiths  are  born,  married,  and  die  by  the  thou- 
sand, and  nothing  apparently  can  be  more  com- 
monplace than  their  lives.  .What  advantage,  then, 
has  John  Smith  over  his  wife  ?  Precisely  this. 
Commonplace  as  is  the  life  of  John  Smith,  the 
life  of  Mrs.  J.  S.  is  still  more  so.  Small  as  are 
his  advantages  and  opportunities,  hers  are  incom- 
parably smaller ;  and  so,  whether  as  a  man  '  I 
might  have  sat  in  kings'  palaces,  or  ground  in 
the  prison-house  of  poverty,  I  put  on  sackcloth 
and  ashes,  bewailing  my  womanhood. 

Now  don't  overwhelm  me  with  a  torrent  of 
platitudes  about  woman's  opportunities  for  self- 
sacrifice,  moral  heroism,  silent  influence,  might  of 
love,  and  all  that  cut-and-dried  woman's  sphere- 
ism  ;  pray  don't.  I  know  all  about  it.  I  could  write 
an  octavo  volume  on  the  subject,  with  dedication, 
introduction,  preface,  and  appendix  ;  but  just  go  to 
your  window  the  next  rainy  day,  and  notice  the 
first  woman  who  passes.  See  how  she  is  forced  to 
concentrate  all  the  energies  of  mind  and  body  on 
herself  and  her  casings.  One  delicate  hand  clings 
desperately  to  the  unwieldy  umbrella ;  the  other 


MEN  AND   WOMEN.  83 

is  ceaselessly  struggling  to  keep  firm  hold  of  the 
multitudinous  draperies  ;  and  if  book,  basket,  or 
bundle  claim  a  share  of  her  attention,  her  case 
is  pitiable  indeed.  Down  goes  one  fold  upon  the 
wet  flagstone,  detected  only  by  an  ominous  flap- 
ping against  the  ankles  when  the  garment  has 
become  saturated,  —  a  loosened  hold  on  the  um- 
brella, of  which  it  takes  advantage,  and  immedi- 
ately sways  imminent  over  the  gutter,  —  a  con- 
vulsive and  random  clutch  at  the  petticoats.  The 
umbrella  righted,  a  sudden  gust  of  wind  threatens 
to  bear  it  away,  and,  one  hand  not  being  sufficient 
to  detain  it,  the  other  involuntarily  comes  to  the 
rescue,  —  sweep  go  the  draperies  down  on  the 
pavement;  then  another  clutch,  another  adjust- 
ment, —  forward !  march  !  —  and  so  on  to  the 
dreary,   draggled  end. 

Stalk  —  stalk  —  stalk  —  comes  up  the  man  be- 
hind her.  Stalk  —  stalk,  —  he  has  passed.  Stalk 
—  stalk  —  stalk,  —  he  is  out  of  sight  before  she 
has  passed  a  single  block. 

Of  course  he  is.  One  sinewy  hand  lightly 
poising  his  umbrella  ;  water-proof  overcoat  "  close 
buttoned  to  the  chin  "  ;  tio-ht-fittlno;  trousers  tucked 
into  enormous  India-rubber  boots.  What  is  the 
storm  to  him  ? 

Is  this  a  small  matter  ?  Beloved  friend,  smaller 
matters  than  these  have  swayed  the  world ;  and 
ten  thousand  such  small  matters  mark  the  child- 
hood, youth,  and  maturity  of  twice  ten  thousand 
small  men  and  women. 


84  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

It  is  a  very  small  matter  for  John  Smith  to  take 
a  journey  of  six  or  eight  hundred  miles.  He 
rushes  home  from  his  counting-room,  office,  or 
workshop,  fifteen  minutes  before  the  train  leaves, 
bids  Mrs.  S.  put  a  clean  shirt  or  two  in  his 
valise,  takes  a  cold  luncheon,  kisses  the  children 
all  round,  and  perhaps  their  mother,  strides  to  the 
station,  goes  in  at  one  end  just  as  the  engine  is 
puffing  out  at  the  other,  waits  leisurely  till  the  last 
end  of  the  last  car  is  opposite  him,  throws  his 
valise  on  the  platform,  grasps  the  railing,  vaults 
lightly  up  the  steps,  and  in  half  a  minute  is  talk- 
ing unconcernedly  with  Mr.  Jones,  who  has  prob- 
ably gone  through  the  same  performance,  barring 
the  last  half-minute. 

But  if  Mrs.  John  Smith  wishes  to  pay  a  ten  days' 
visit  to  her  mother,  sixty  miles  away,  a  fortnight 
is  not  too  much  time  to  devote  to  preparations. 
Her  wardrobe  is  to  be  thoroughly  overhauled  ; 
dresses  selected,  bought,  made  ;  a  dressmaker  con- 
sequently to  be  hunted  up  and  engaged ;  old  skirts 
adjusted  to  new  basques  ;  collars  mended,  whit- 
ened, and  clear-starched ;  Mr.  Smith's  shirts, 
stockings,  and  handkerchiefs  placed  where  he  can 
lay  his  hands  on  them  blindfolded,  for  no  Smith 
ever  yet  conceived  the  idea  of  lifting  up  one  thing 
to  find  another  under  it :  the  various  strata  of 
rocks  .being  tilted,  the  genus  Smith  seems  to  have 
imbibed  the  opinion  that  bureau-drawers  should 
be  arranged  on  the  same  plan.     Then  there  are 


MEN  AND   WOMEN.  85 

the  children  to  be  seen  to,  the  marketing  to  he  ar- 
ranged, Bridget  to  be  admonished,  and  everything 
in  general  wound  up  to  go  ten  days  without  stop- 
ping or  derangement.  Consequently,  when  the 
appointed  morning  comes,  and  with  it  the  ap- 
pointed coach,  Mrs.  Smith  is  not  quite  ready. 
With  one  cheek  flushed,  and  no  collar,  she  gives 
hurried  directions,  ties  up  brown-paper  packages 
with  nervous,  trembling  fingers,  which  packages  no 
sooner  receive  the  final  jerk  than  they  are  discov- 
ered to  be  bursting  out  at  both  ends  ;  scatters  the 
young  folks  hither  and  thither,  running  down  all 
who  are  not  agile  enough  to  get  out  of  the  way, 
and  is  only  restrained  from  scolding  outright  by  a 
dim  vision  of  plunges  down  embankments,  butting 
against  opposing  engines,  splintered  bridges,  flying 
axles,  and  life-long  separation  from  beloved  ones, 
to  which  a  railroad  journey  now-a-days  renders 
one  so  fearfully  liable.  At  length,  the  last  knot  is 
tied,  the  last  kiss  given,  and  Mrs.  S.,  anxiously 
looking  at  her  watch,  stumbles  over  the  hem  of 
her  dress  into  the  coach,  beseeching  the  driver  to 
hurry.  He  politely  says  "  Yes,"  but  persistently 
drives  "  No."  After  what  she  considers  unneces- 
sary delay,  she  arrives  at  the  station,  hurries  into 
the  ticket-office,  tries  to  hurry  open'  her  porte- 
monnaie,  but,  as  that  is  governed  by  the  Medo- 
Persic  laws  of  inertia  and  attraction,  it  refuses  to 
be  hurried.  Hurriedly  she  asks  the  ticket-master, 
"Is    the   train  north  gone?"      His  loud,   clear, 


86  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

deliberate,  "  No,  ma'am,"  startles  her,  and  before 
she  recovers  herself,  he  has  gone  to  the  opposite 
window.  She  waits  her  turn  again.  "  How 
long  before  it  goes  ?  "  "  Twen-ty  —  min-utes,  — 
ma'am."  With  a  sigh  of  mingled  relief  and  weari- 
ness she  sinks  upon  a  sofa.  Time  would  fail  me  to 
follow  Mrs.  S.  on  her  devious  way,  —  to  note  her 
anxious  watch  over  "  great  box,  little  box,  band- 
box, and  bundle  " ;  her  uncertainty  as  to  which 
train  she  is  to  take,  and  her  incessant  inquiries  of 
every  man  who  approaches ;  the  intense  unrest 
that  looks  out  of  her  eyes,  quivers  on  her  lips, 
trembles  in  her  hands,  and  flutters  in  every  thread 
of  her  garments.  All  these  things  may  only 
provoke  a  smile,  but  Mrs.  J.  S.  is  tragically  iii 
earnest. 

Man,  too,  is  independent.  He  goes  where  and 
when  he  lists.  He  need  not  be  rich  to  gaze  upon 
all  the  wonders  of  the  New  World,  all  the  magnifi- 
cence of  the  Old.  He  can  shoulder  his  knapsack, 
and  traverse  the  globe.  Every  spot  consecrated 
by  genius,  patriotism,  suffering,  love,  is  spread 
out  before  him.  Whatever  of  beautiful,  grand,  or 
glorious  is  to  be  found  in  art  or  nature,  is  his. 
He  can  people  his  brain  with  memories  that  will 
never  die,  adorn  it  with  pictures  whose  colors  will 
never  fade,  treasure  up  untold  wealth  for  his  soul 
to  feed  on  in  future  years. 

If  the  day's  long  toil  leave  him  restless,  —  if 
throbbing  heart  or  aching  head  crave  a  draught 


MEN  AND  WOMEN.  87 

of  pure  elixir,  —  if  the  murmur  of  tlie  waterfall, 
the  glow  of  the  stars,  or  the  ever-new  splendor 
of  the  moon  lure  him  out  into  the  night,  he  goes ; 
and  the  hush  and  solitude  bring  him  rest  and 
healing ;  the  night  sweeps  into  his  soul,  and  cools 
the  fever  in  his  veins.  The  world  recedes.  He 
stands  face  to  face  with  God.  He  receives  again 
the  breath  of  life,  and  becomes  a  living  soul. 

Alas  for  a  woman !  She  can  never  do  a  thing 
except  gregariously.  She  has  no  soHtude  except 
in  the  house,  which  is  no  solitude  at  all.  She  is 
always  at  the  mercy  of  others'  whims,  caprices, 
tastes,  business  engagements,  or  headaches.  If 
she  travels,  she  must  partially  accommodate  her- 
self to  somebody's  convenience.  She  must  go  in 
the  beaten  track.  Her  eyes  must  look  right  on, 
and  her  eyelids  straight  before  her.  There  are 
no  wild  wanderings  at  her  own  sweet  will,  no 
experimental  deviations  from  the  prescribed  route, 
no  hazardous  but  delightful  flying  off  in  a  tan- 
gent on  the  spur  of  the  moment.  She  cannot 
separate  herself  from  the  past,  slough  off  her  iden- 
tity, and  become  a  new  being  in  new  scenes.  She 
must  take  her  old  associations  with  her,  and  they 
are  a  robe  of  oiled  silk,  effectually  excluding  the 
new  atmosphere  which  should  penetrate  to  the 
very  sources  of  life.  She  cannot  enjoy  in  quiet- 
ness and  silence.  She  is  one  of  a  party,  and  must 
go  into  a  rapture  here  and  an  ecstasy  there,  and 
give  a   definite  reason  for   both.      She  must  be 


88  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

wakened  from  a  trance  of  delight  by  a  lisped 
''  How  beautiful !  "  or  a  quotation  from  Byron,  by 
some  one  whose  knowledge  of  Byron  is  derived 
from  a  gilt  volume  of  "  Elegant  Extracts,"  or  the 
"  American  First-Class  Book."  It  is  very  exas- 
perating. 

I  remember  well  the  agonizing  stupidity  of  a 
journey  which  I  once  undertook  with  great  ex- 
pectations. Halicarnassus  was  obliged  to  leave 
me  on  the  road,  and  I  contemplated  a  solitary 
completion  of  my  expedition  with  unbounded  de- 
light ;  but  at  the  very  last  moment  he  hunted  up 
an  old  schoolmate,  a  planter  from  the  South,  and 
consigned  me  to  him,  ready  invoiced  and  labelled  ! 
I  yielded  with  a  resigned  and  quiet  despair. 

He  proved  to  be  a  very  sensible  man,  and  slept 
most  of  the  time,  except  when  I  spoke  to  him,  which 
I  did  occasionally  for  the  sake  of  seeing  him  jump. 
He  knew  that  it  was  not  polite  for  him  to  sleep, 
but  he  cherished  the  pleasing  illusion  that  I  did 
not  know  it,  but  fancied  him  lost  in  profound  medi- 
tation. Bless  his  dear  soul !  If  he  only  could 
have  known  that  it  was  the  most  agreeable  dis- 
position he  could  possibly  have  made  of  himself,  — 
though,  as  far  as  my  observation  goes,  men  cer- 
tainly look  better  awake  than  asleep.  Slumber  is 
not  becoming  to  the  masculine  gender.  Look  at 
the  next  man  you  see  asleep  in  church.  What 
absolute  lack  of  expression  ;  what  falling  jaws  ; 
what  idiocy  in  the  bobbing  head  ;  what  lack-lustre 


MEN  AND   WOMEN.  89 

vacancy  about  the  eyes  and  in  the  eyes,  when 
they  slowly  drag  themselves  open  ;  how  senseless 
are  the  fingers,  and  how,  when  he  awakes,  he 
half  looks  about,  and  then  suddenly  looks  straight 
at  the  minister  for  two  minutes,  and  pretends  he 
has  been  awake  all  the  time,  just  as  if  everybody 
did  n't  know.  It  is  as  good  as  a  pantomime.  But 
I  was  glad  my  fellow-traveller  slept,  for  our  at- 
tempts at  conversation  were  really  distressing  to  a 
sensitive  mind.  He  had  a  habit  of  receiving  my 
most  trifling  remarks  with  an  air  of  deep  solemnity, 
which  was  very  provoking.  It  is  bad  enough  to 
say  foolish  things,  and  to  know  they  are  foolish 
when  you  say  them ;  but  it  is  a  great  deal  worse 
to  have  people  think  that  you  think  you  have  said 
something  wise.  Then  he  never  would  under- 
stand what  I  said  the  first  time  ;  consequently  it 
had  to  be  repeated.  Now,  when  you  are  putting 
about  in  distress  for  a  remark,  you  do  often  seize 
hold  of  any  platitude,  and  give  it  audible  utter- 
ance, despising  yourself  all  the  while ;  but  after 
it  has  done  duty,  and  you  have  shoved  it  from 
you  in  disgust,  to  be  forced  to  stretch  out  your 
hand  and  draw  it  back  once  more.  Eheu !  Our 
conversation  might  be  daguerrotyped  thus  :  — 

I.     "  This  is  a  fine  country." 

He.     "Ma'am?" 

I.     "  This  is  a  fine  country,  I  said  ! " 

He.  "  Yes,  a  very  fine  country  !  "  Pause. 
Profound  meditation  on  both  sides. 


90  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

I.  "Is  that  an  eagle  ?  "  (with  an  attempt  at 
animation) . 

He.  "  Ma'am  ?  "  (with  a  start,  and  wild,  be- 
wildered look). 

I.  "  I  asked  if  that  was  an  eagle,  but  he  is 
gone  now  !  "     (Of  course  he  was,  —  a  mile  off.) 

He.  "  I  don't  know,  really.  I  did  n't  quite 
see  him."     Relapse  into  meditation. 

I.     "  Do  we  change  cars  at  B ?  " 

He.     "  Ma'am  ?  " 

I.  "  Do  you  know  whether  we  change  cars  at 
B ,  sir?" 

He.  "  I  don't  know,  but  I  think  we  do.  I 
will  ask  the  conductor  !  " 

I.  "  O,  no  !  Pray  don't,  sir !  I  dare  say  we 
shall  find  out  when  we  get  there."  Third  course 
of  meditation,  and  so  on. 

Whenever  we  did  have  to  change  cars,  —  and 
it  seemed  to  me  as  if  this  occurred  at  irregular 
intervals  of  from  ten  to  twenty  miles  —  [I  desire 
to  enter  my  earnest  protest  against  it.  One  is 
scarcely  seated  comfortably,  with  valise  and  satchel 
on  the  floor,  shawl  on  the  arm,  and  bundles  tucked 

on  the  rack,  before  "  Passengers  for change 

cars " ;  and  up  must  come  the  satchels  with  a 
jerk,  and  down  the  bundles  with  a  thud,  and  off 
we  elbow  our  way  through  a  crowd,  across  a 
dusty  track,  into  another  car,  where  the  same 
process  is  repeated.  When  people  are  satisfac- 
torily adjusted,  why  can't  people  be  let  alone  ?  ] 


MEN  AND  WOMEN.  91 

As  I  was  saying,  whenever  we  had  to  change,  he 
was  sure  to  be  sound  asleep,  and  I  would  spare 
his  feelings  and  not  wake  him,  knowing  that  the 
people  jostling  against  him  in  passing  would  do 
that,  and  suddenly  he  would  rouse,  gaze  wildly 
around,  and  exclaim,  "  Are  you  going  to  get 
out  ?  "  as  if  all  the  commotion  was  caused  by  me  ; 
and  I  would  turn  from  the  window  at  which  I 
had  been  steadfastly  staring,  and  answer  calmly, 
and  as  if  I  had  just  thought  of  it,  "  Perhaps  we 
would  better,  sir ;  the  people  seem  to  be  getting 
out !  "  And  so,  by  constant  watchfulness  and  stud- 
ied forbearance,  I  managed  to  pick  up  his  goods 

for  him,  and  land  him  safely  at  H ,  with  great 

respect  for  his  many  virtues,  and  great  contempt 
for  his  qualifications  as  guide  and  protector. 

Yet  I  was  currently  reported  to  be  travelling 
under  the  care  of  Mr.  Lakeman  of  Alabama ;  as  if 
I  could  n't  take  care  of  myself  fifty  thousand  times 
better  than  that  respectable  stupidity  could  take 
care  of  me. 

Men  are  strong.  They  do  things,  and  don't 
mind  it.  They  can  open  doors  in  the  dampest 
weather.  They  can  unstrap  trunks  without  break- 
ing a  blood-vessel,  turn  keys  in  a  moment  which 
women  have  lost  their  temper  and  lamed  their 
fingers  over  for  half  an  hour,  look  down  preci- 
pices and  not  be  dizzy,  knock  each  other  prostrate 
and  not  be  stunned.  You  may  strike  them  with 
all  your  might  on  the  chest,  and  it  does  n't  hurt 


92  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

them  in  the  least  (I  mean  if  you  are  a  woman). 
They  never  grow  nervous  and  cry.  They  go  up 
stairs  three  at  a  time.  They  put  one  hand  on  a 
four-rail  fence,  and  leap  it  without  touching.  In 
short,  they  do  everything  easily  which  women  try 
to  do  and  cannot. 

Moreover,  men  are  so  "  easy  to  get  along  with." 
They  are  good-natured,  and  conveniently  blind  and 
benevolent.  Women  criticise  you,  not  unjustly, 
perhaps,  but  relentlessly.  They  judge  you  in  de- 
tail, men  only  in  the  whole.  If  your  dress  is 
neat,  well-fitting,  and  well-toned,  men  will  not 
notice  it,  except  a  few  man-milliners,  and  a  few 
others  who  ought  to  be,  and  to  whose  opinion  we 
pay  no  regard.  If  you  will  only  sit  still,  hold  up 
your  head,  and  speak  when  you  are  spoken  to,  you 
can  be  very  comfortable.  I  do  not  mean  that  men 
cannot  and  do  not  appreciate  female  brilliancy  ; 
but  if  you  are  a  good  listener,  and  in  the  right 
receptive  mood,  you  can  spend  an  hour  very  pleas- 
antly without  it.  But  a  woman  finds  out  in  the 
first  three  minutes  that  the  fringe  on  your  dress 
is  not  a  match.  In  four,  she  has  discovered  that 
the  silk  of  your  sleeves  is  frayed  at  the  edge.  In 
five,  that  the  binding  of  the  heel  of  your  boot  is 
worn  out.  By  the  sixth,  she  has  satisfactorily  as- 
certained, what  she  suspected  the  firsfr  moment 
she  "  set  her  eyes  on  you,"  that  you  trimmed  your 
bonnet  yourself.  The  seventh  assures  her  that 
your  collar  is  only  "  imitation  "  ;  and  when  you 


MEN  AND   WOMEN.  93 

part,  at  the  end  of  ten  minutes,  she  has  calculated 
with  tolerable  accuracy  the  cost  of  your  dress,  has 
levelled  her  mental  eyeglass  at  all  your  innocent 
little  subterfuges,  and  knows  to  a  dead  certainty 
your  past  history,  present  circumstances,  and  future 
prospects.  Well,  what  harm  if  she  does  ?  None 
in  particular.  It  is  only  being  stretched  on  the 
rack  a  little  while.  You  have  no  reason  to  be 
ashamed,  and  you  are  not  ashamed.  Your  boots 
are  only  beginning  to  be  shabby,  and  we  all  know 
the  transitory  nature  of  galloon.  Your  fringe  is  too 
dark,  but  you  ransacked  the  city  and  did  your  best, 
"  angels  could  no  more."  You  trimmed  your  bon- 
net yourself,  and  saved  two  dollars,  which  was 
just  what  you  intended  to  do.  "  The  means  were 
worthy,  and  the  end  was  won."  Your  lace  is  not 
real,  according  to  the  cant  of  the  shopkeepers  ;  but 
it  ^s  real, — real  cotton,  real  linen,  real  silk,  or  what- 
ever the  material  may  be,  and  you  never  pretended 
it  was  Honiton  or  point ;  and  if  lace  is  soft  and 
white  and  fine,  and  sets  off  the  throat  and  wrists 
prettily,  I  don't  see  why  it  may  not  just  as  well 
be  made  in  America  for  two  cents  a  yard,  as  in 
Paris  for  two  dollars,  or  two  hundred.  In  fact, 
this  whole  matter  of  lace  is  something  entirely 
beyond  my  comprehension.  Why,  I  have  seen 
women  who,  in  the  ordinary  affairs  of  life,  were 
neat  to  a  fault,  just  not  fall  down  and  worship  a 
bit  of  dingy,  old  yellow  lace,  that  looked  fit  for 
nothing  but  the  wash-tub ;  and,  when  remonstrated 


94  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

with,  excuse  themselves  by  saying,  "  Why,  it  is 
fifty  or  five  hundred  years  old  "  ;  which  may  be 
a  very  lucid  explanation,  but  I  cannot  say  I  fully 
understand  and  appreciate  it. 

Men  can  talk  "  slang."  "  Dry  up  "  is  nowhere 
forbidden  in  the  Decalogue.  Neither  the  law  nor 
the  prophets  fi-own  on  "  a  thousand  of  brick."  The 
Sermon  on  the  Mount  does  not  discountenance 
"  knuckling  to  " ;  but  between  women  and  these 
minor  immoralities  stands  an  invisible  barrier  of 
propriety,  —  waves  an  abstract  flaming  sword  in 
the  hand  of  Mrs.  Grundy,  —  and  we  must  submit 
to  Mrs.  Grundy,  though  the  heavens  fall.  But 
who  can  reckon  up  the  loss  which  we  sustain? 

"  Dry  up,"  —  a  lyric  poem  is  sealed  in  that 
Spartan  conciseness.  Only  have  eyes,  and  you 
shall  see  a  summer  brook  murmuring  through  the 
greenwood  ;  hushed  into  stillness  where  the  shad- 
ows fall  darkly,  flashing  right  merrily  where  sun- 
light glints  through  the  mermaiden  tresses  of  the 
trees ;  mingling  its  low  song  with  Nature's  many- 
toned  lyre ;  glassing  in  tricksy,  ever-changing 
caricature  the  damp,  soft  mosses  on  its  borders  ; 
dropping  a  deeper  purple  into  the  cups  of  bend- 
ing violets  ;  flinging  a  roguish  little  spray  against 
the  sober  old  rocks ;  cooing  small  white  feet  to 
tempt  its  limpid  depths  ;  frisking  with  young  lambs 
in  loving,  cool  embrace  ;  curling  around  smooth- 
faced pebbles  in  perpetual  overflow ;  singing, 
dancing,  hurrying,  scurrying,  grave  and  gay,  till 


MEN  AND   WOMEN  95 

the  baleful  dog-star  rises,  the  loitering  sun  treads 
slowly  through  the  brazen  heavens,  and  the  earth 
lies  parched  and  panting  in  his  fierce,  fiery  clasp. 
Then  .the  brook-music  dies  away.  Softly  and 
more  softly  the  ripples  sing  themselves  to  sleep. 
The  thirsty  lambs  go  sorrowing.  The  tender  feet 
turn  back  mournfully.  The  white  pebbles  rise 
hot  and  hard.  The  mosses  crisp  and  wither. 
The  violets  faint  and  fade.  The  last  cool  moisture 
breathes  itself  to  heaven.  Sweet  life  is  quenched. 
The  brook  is  —  "  dried  up." 

What  equivalent  can  your  drawing-room  gram- 
mar furnish  for  such  a  "  sunny  spot  of  greenery  '•'  ? 

It  would  be  easy  to  go  through  a  long  list  of 
tabooed  expressions  and  show  how  they  are  in- 
formed and  vivified  with  feminine  sweetness, 
brawny  vigor,  strength  of  imagination,  the  play 
of  fancy,  and  the  flash  of  wit.  Translate  them 
into  civilized  dialect,  —  make  them  presentable  at 
your  fireside,  and  immediately  the  virtue  is  gone 
out  of  them.  Can  the  man  who  simply  rebukes 
your  proceedings  compete  for  a  moment  with  the 
man  who  comes  down  upon  you  like  "  a  thousand 
of  brick "  ?  Would  not  myriads  of  men  weakly 
agree  to  a  compromise,  who  would  start  back  in 
horror  at  the  insinuation  of  knuckling  to  their 
opponents  ? 

I  should  like  to  call  my  luggage  "  traps," 
and  my  curiosities  "  truck  and  dicker,"  and  my 
weariness  "  being  knocked  up,"  as  well  as  Hali- 


96  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

carnassus,  but  I  miglit  as  well  rob  a  bank.  All  I 
high-handed  Mrs.  Grundy,  httle  you  reck  of  the 
sinewy  giants  that  you  banish  from  your  table ! 
Little  you  see  the  nuggets  of  gold  that  lie  on 
the  lips  of  our  brown-fisted,  shaggy-haired  news- 
boys and  cabmen  ! 

But  if  men,  in  their  strength  and  courage  and 
independence,  are  enviable,  men  in  their  gentle- 
ness are  irresistible.  You  expect  it  in  women. 
It  is  their  attribute  and  characteristic.  You  do 
not  admire  its  presence  so  much  as  you  deplore 
or  condemn  its  absence.  But  manly  tenderness 
has  a  peculiar  charm.  It  is  the  wild  ivy  shooting 
over  the  battlements  of  some  old  feudal  castle, 
lending  grace  to  solidity,  veiling  strength  with 
beauty.  And  you  meet  it  everywhere,  —  in  the 
house  and  by  the  wayside,  in  city  and  country, 
under  broadcloth  and  homespun.  The  best  seat, 
the  finest  stand-point,  the  warmest  comer,  is  not 
only  offered,  but  urged  upon  a  woman.  You 
may  travel  from  one  end  of  the  country  to  the 
other,  and  meet  not  only  civility,  but  the  most 
cordial  and  considerate  kindness.  You  may  be 
as  ugly  as  it  is  possible  for  virtue  to  be,  and  tired 
and  travel-stained  and  stupid,  and  your  neighbor 
of  a  day  will  show  you  all  the  little  attentions 
you  could  claim  from  a  father  or  a  brother.  He 
will  place  his  valise  for  your  footstool  and  his 
shawl  for  your  pillow,  open  or  close  your  window- 
blind  at  every  turn  of  the  road,  point  out  every 


MEN  AND   WOMEN  97 

object  of  interest,  explain  everything  you  don't 
understand,  and  do  a  thousand  things  to  make 
your  journey  pleasant.  The  roughest  laborer  will 
step  out  ankle-deep  in  the  "  slosh  "  to  give  you  a 
firm  footing ;  and  if  you  have  the  decency  to  thank 
him,  his  good-natured  face  will  light  up  with  as 
broad  a  smile  as  if  you  were  doing  him  the  great- 
est favor  in  the  world.  When  a  carpenter  drags 
the  heavy  old  road-gate  —  which  he  has  just  un- 
hinged to  mend  —  half  a  dozen  rods,  to  lay  it  across 
a  mud-puddle  that  a  woman,  to  whom  he  never 
spoke  before  and  probably  never  will  again,  may 
pass  over  dryshod,  it  is  false  to  say  that  the  age 
of  chivalry  is  gone.  Talk  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh's 
gallantry !  Say  rather  his  shrewdness.  Surely 
his  was  the  most  economical  use  to  which  cloak 
was  ever  put.  What  wonderful  politeness  was 
there  in  a  risking  a  few  yards  of  plush  to  win  the 
smile  of  a  sovereign  whose  smiles  were  "  money 
and  fame  and  troops  of  friends  "  ? 

I  am  aware  that  this  universal  politeness  has 
passed  under  the  ban  of  certain  of  my  sex,  who 
are  pleased  to  consider  and  designate  it  as  "  doll- 
treatment,"  and  resent  it  accordingly.  They  ask 
no  favors,  despise  condescensions,  and  demand 
dues.  Very  well.  They  are  doubtless  conscien- 
tious. If  I  thought  as  they  do,  I  should  proba- 
bly act  as  they  do.     Only  I  do  not.  % 

Even  if  this  courtesy  were  a  kind  of  quid  pro 
quo^  —  a  superfluity  given  for  an  essential  taking 

5  G 


98  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

away,  —  a  Roland  of  kindness,  thrust  upon  us  for 
an  Oliver  of  right,  fraudulently  kept  back,  —  why, 
I  am  afraid  I  must  make  the  ignoble  confession 
that  I  —  believe  —  I  like  the  Roland  better  than 
the  Oliver,  —  that  is,  if  we  cannot  have  both,- — 
if  rights  preclude  courtesy.  It  is  pleasanter,  or, 
as  Englishmen  would  say,  "jollier,"  to  sit  by  the 
flesh-pots  of  Egypt,  than  to  starve  legally  in  the 
promised  land.  Women  would  better  improve 
the  rights  they  have,  a  little  more,  before  going 
mad  after  others  that  they  know  not  of.  It 
seems  to  me  that  I  have  business  enough  on  my 
hands  now  to  occupy  three  persons  at  least ;  and 
if  men  will  be  so  good  as  to  do  the  law-making, 
and  stock-jobbing,  and  bribing,  and  quarrelling, 
and  stump-speaking,  I  will  be  greatly  obliged  to 
them.  It  will  give  them  employment,  and  take 
them  off  our  hands  for  a  good  part  of  the  day, 
which  is  very  convenient.  As  the  big  man  said, 
when  asked  why  he  let  his  little  wife  beat  him, 
"  It  amuses  her,  and  it  don't  hurt  me." 

This  is  not  at  all  heroic,  I  know ;  and  I  sup- 
pose, if  there  was  the  least  probability  that  any- 
thing would  ever  come  of  it,  I  could  work  my- 
self up  to  the  proper  pitch  of  indignation,  and 
prefer  a  crust  of  bread  and  the  right  of  suffrage 
to  enjoying  the  pleasures  of  slavery  for  a  season. 
But  Plato  says  it  is  an  awful  gift  of  the  gods  that 
we  can  become  used  to  things ;  and  I  have  be- 
come so   used   to   this,  that,  notwithstanding   an 


MEN  AND    WOMEN.  99 

occasional  spasm,  really  I  am  —  pretty  well,  thank 
you,  hut  — 

I  do  not  believe  that  the  stream  of  kindness, 
which  flows  so  continually  from,  men  to  usward, 
has  any  such  polluted  source.  It  is  not  under- 
hand, as  some  would  have  us  believe,  nor  sinis- 
ter. Men  do  not  systematically  oppress  us.  They 
mean  well,  only  they  are  a  little  thick-headed. 
As  soon  as  they  see  their  way  clear,  they  will 
walk  in  it.  Meanwhile  comes  in  this  involun- 
tary outgushing,  this  innate  nobility  of  soul,  this 
germ  of  the  possible  angel,  which  I  pray  God 
may  spring  up,  and  bud  and  blossom  into  glori- 
ous fruitage.  Am  I  enthusiastic?  I  have  a 
right  to  be.  A  nation  of  men  loyal,  not  to  grace, 
beauty,  magnificence,  but  to  womanhood,  to  the 
highest  impulses  of  fallen  human  nature,  to  the 
love  element  of  the  'universe,  is  a  thing  to  be 
enthusiastic  about.  "  I  will  indulge  my  sacred 
fiiry." 

I  have  somewhere  read  that,  in  a  part  of  the 
Jewish  worship,  the  men  say,  "I  thank  thee,  O 
God,  that  thou  hast  not  made  me  a  woman " ; 
and  the  women  devoutly  and  meekly  follow,  "  I 
thank  thee,  O  God,  that  thou  hast  made  me  as 
it  pleased  thee."  The  first  is  the  language  of 
nature,  the  second  of  grace.  The  first  is  physi- 
ology, and  impracticable  to  us ;  the  second,  phi- 
losophy, and  attainable.     Let  us  take  courage.   . 

From   the    confession    of  faith    which    I   have 


100  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

made,  it  will  readily  be  inferred  that  I  have  no 
petty  spite  to  gratify,  but  that  I  speak  more  in 
sorrow  than  in  anger  when  I  say  that  men  do 
sometimes  act  l^ke  downright  —  persons  devoid 
of  sense  (dictionary  definition  of  a  word  which  I 
refrain  from  using  for  courteous  reasons),  and  it 
really  is  necessary  to  fall  back  on  undisputed 
proofs  of  their  common  sense  in  other  matters, 
to  convince  ourselves  that  this  is  only  a  mono- 
stultitia. 

I  do  not  blame  men  for  not  understanding 
women.  It  is,  perhaps,  not  in  the  nature  of 
things.  Two  organisms  so  dehcate,  yet  so  dis- 
tinct,—  so  often  parallel,  yet  so  entirely  integral, 
—  can  perhaps  never  be  thoroughly  understood 
objectively.  But  I  do  blame  them  for  obsti- 
nately persisting  in  the  belief  that  they  do  when 
they  don't.  Instead  of  going  quietly  on  their 
way,  and  letting  us  go  quietly  on  ours,  giving 
and  receiving  help  when  it  is  needed,  and  stand- 
ing kindly  aloof  when  it  is  not,  they  are  continu- 
ally projecting  themselves  into  our  sphere,  putting 
their  officious  shoulders  to  our  wheels,  poking 
their  prurient  fingers  into  our  pies.  They  seem 
to  have  no  idea  that  there  is  any  corner  of  our 
hearts  so  hidden  that  their  halfpenny  tallow-can- 
dles cannot  illuminate  it ;  and,  at  the  first  symp- 
tom of  doubt,  the  tallow-candles  are  accordingly 
produced.  Assuming  that  they  are  entirely  con- 
versant with  woman's  nature,  conscious  with  all 


MEN  AND   WOMEN  101 

their  stolidity  that  there  is  friction  somewhere, 
and  perfectly  confident  that  they  can  tinker  us 
up  "  as  good  as  new,"  with  the  best  of  motives 
and  the  clumsiest  of  hands,  they  begin  forthwith 
to  hammer  away,  right  and  left,  on  the  delicate 
wheels  and  springs,  till  we  are  forced  to  cry  out, 
"  Dear  souls,  we  know  you  are  good  and  honest 
and  sincere.  You  would  die  for  us ;  but  your 
fingers  are  all  thumbs.  Let  us  alone ! "  Do 
you  think  they  will?  Not  they.  Undaunted  by 
their  want  of  success,  apparently  even  uncon- 
scious of  it,  they  ding  on  doggedly,  and  if  conti- 
nuity, persistence,  inflexibility,  and  a  continual 
harping  on  the  same  string,  could  have  reformed 
us,  we  should  have  been  reformed  into  the  seventh 
heaven  long  ago.  But  God  works  by  means. 
Water  does  not  spontaneously  run  up  hill.  No 
combination  of  numbers  can  make  two  and  two 
equal  five.  The  strength  of  Samson  would  not 
enable  a  man  to  lift  himself  to  the  stars,  by  pull- 
ing at  the  strap  of  his  boots.  So  the  Conflict  of 
Ages  goes  on. 

O,  if  those  who  are  at  such  infinite  pains  to 
teach  woman  her  duties,  and  make  her  contented 
with  her  lot,  would  but  stop  a  moment  to  take 
their  reckonings,  and  compare  notes  !  "  Go  to, 
brothers ;  we  don't  seem  to  get  on  very  fast. 
There  must  be  a  screw  loose  somewhere.  Let 
us  investigate." 

Do  I  flatter  myself  that  what  I  may  say  will 


102  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

have  the  shghtest  tendency  to  modify  the  views 
or  the  practice  of  any  one  of  my  mascuHne  read- 
ers, should  I  be  so  fortunate  as  to  have  any? 
Not  in  the  least.  Though  I  speak  with  the 
tongues  of  men  and  of  angels,  yet,  of  six  men 
who  should  do  me  the  honor  to  read  me,  half  a 
dozen,  invited  to  deliver  an  address  at  the  anni- 
versarv  of  a  female  boarding-school,  would  rise 
slowly  in  their  places,  smile  down  a  bland  and 
benignant  compliment  on  the  white-robed  beauty 
before  them,  and  glide  gracefully  into  an  oily  eulo- 
gium  upon  woman's  influence,  her  humanizing  and 
elevating  mission,  promulgating  the  novel  and 
startling  theory  that  her  power  is  in  her  heart,  not 
in  her  arm ;  that  she  judges  by  intuition  rather 
than  induction ;  that  her  sphere  is  not  on  the 
rostrum,  but  by  the  fireside ;  that  she  is  to  rule 
by  love,  not  by  fear ;  —  interspersing  some  vener- 
able fling  at  woman's-rights  conventions  and  their 
strong-minded  leaders,  quoting  with  unutterable 
pathos, 

"  I  called  her  angel,  but  he  called  her  wife,"  — 

(Query:  what  right  has  any  man  to  be  calling 
another  man's  wife  angel  ?)  —  and  winding  up 
gloriously  in  a  metaphoric  convulsion. 

Do  you  ask  me,  then,  why  I  write  ?  Because 
I  know  that  I  shall  be  read  by  girls,  and,  as  we 
have  been  told  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine 
times,  the  girls  of  this  generation   are  to   be  the 


MEN  AND   WOMEN.  103 

mothers  of  the  next,  and  I  hope  and  believe  that 
the  few  crumbs  I  cast  upon  the  waters  will  be 
returned  to  me  or  mine  after  many  days. 

Boarding-school  anniversaries  are  becoming  a 
part  of  our  institutions,  and  the  above  outhne  is 
no  fancy  sketch.  I  once  heard  a  lecturer  on 
such  an  occasion  introduce  such  an  address  with 
the  remark  that  he  was  left  no  choice.  The  sub- 
ject was  forced  upon  him  by  the  nature  of  the 
case  ;  and  having  thus  apologized  at  the  outset, 
he  immediately  struck  the  trail,  and  came  in  at 
the  death  handsomely.  His  voice  was  melodi- 
ous, his  accentuation  perfect,  his  language  ele- 
gant, liis  manner  refined.  He  did  in  the  best 
possible  style  what  needed  not  to  be  done  at  all. 
And  he  knew  that  it  needed  not  to  be  done. 
The  very  fact  that  he  did  apologize  indicated  that 
he  saw  the  necessity  of  apologizing.  It  was  as 
if  he  had  said,  "  My  dear  girls,  I  know  you  are 
bored  to  death  with  people's  telling  you  what 
your  sphere  is,  but  I  must  give  the  screw  one 
more  twist.  I  pray  you  try  to  bear  it ;  for  what 
the  mischief  is  a  man  to  talk  about,  if  not  this?" 
This  would  not  have  been  dignified,  but  it  would 
have  been  frank. 

But  I  take  issue  on  the  fact.  There  is  a  choice 
of  subjects.  A  man  is  not  confined  to  this  stupid 
treadmill.  Girls  can  understand  and  appreciate 
a  broader  sweep  of  thought.  One  of  the  finest 
public  addresses  I  ever  heard  was  on  such  an  occa- 


104  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

sion.  I  have  forgotten  the  definite  theme,  but  it 
treated  of  the  cuhivation  of  the  beautiful,  and, 
strange  to  relate,  there  was  not  in  it,  as  far  as  I 
recollect,  a  single  injunction  to  women  to  mind 
their  own  business.  Truth  obliges  me  to  confess 
that,  though  all  the  good  people  admired  it  as  very 
beautiful,  they  all  added,  "  but  not  appropriate." 
In  my  opinion,  however,  it  was  appropriate.  In- 
stead of  telling  us  to  stop  doing  nothing,  and 
refrain  from  doing  the  wrong  thing,  he  showed  us 
how  to  do  a  right  thing  ;  and  no  matter  if  people 
do  find  fault  with  a  good  lecture.  It  only  proves 
that  their  taste  is  weakened  by  long  disuse,  and 
must  be  educated  up  to  a  higher  level. 

That  villanous  old  woman-hater,  Alexander 
Pope,  avenged  himself  for  the  unpardonable  supe- 
riority of  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu's  wit  to 
his  own,  and  her  scornful  and  merry  refusal  of  his 
proffered  love,  —  one  shrinks  from  profaning  the 
sacred  word  by  applying  it  to  such  mockery  of 
the  divine  passion,  —  by  pattering  rhymes  against 
the  whole  sex,  as 

"  Matter  too  soft  a  lasting  mark  to  bear, 
And  best  distinguished  by  black,  brown,  or  fair." 

The  men  of  to-day,  with  all  their  boasted  pro- 
gress, seem  to  have  gone  but  a  step  farther.  They 
do  indeed  give  us  suflScient  consistency  to  bear 
whatever  impress  themselves  shall  stamp,  but 
acknowledge  no  inborn  power  of  self-development. 
Singularly  enough,  there  is  a  wonderful  sameness 


MEN  AND    WOMEN.  105 

in  all  their  stamps.  If  we  were  what  men  have 
tried  to  make  us,  and  only  that,  a  man  ><j  Us  mark 
would  be  set  upon  us  with  the  uniformity  of  the 
red  cross  on  a  flock  of  sheep.  Now,  if  there  were 
in  our  seminaries  only  one  class  of  girls,  and  that 
a  class  reared  in  luxurious  homes,  and  tempted  by 
mere  surfeit  of  idleness  into  forbidden  paths,  there 
would  be  more  excuse  for  the  monotone,  though  it 
would  still  be  utterly  ineffectual ;  but,  collected  as 
our  New  England  schools  are,  —  and  I  am  speak- 
ing now  of  these  particularly,  —  there  is  many  and 
many  a  girl  in  them  who  has  come  from  a  home 
of  poverty,  some  perhaps  of  ignorance,  a  few, 
alas  !  of  vice.  He  who  should  be  the  stay  and 
honor  of  his  family  is  its  weakness  and  shame.  A 
frail  girl,  with  a  strong  heart  and  a  clear  brain, 
throws  herself  in  the  breach.  She  studies  with 
energy,  purpose,  and  effect.  She  stands  on  the 
threshold  of  womanhood,  and  turns  to  take  a  last 
look  at  her  girlish  days.  All  the  luring  pictures 
spread  out  by  a  poetical  speaker  her  woman's 
heart  has  already  portrayed,  and  she  knows  that 
she  must  resolutely  shut  her  eyes,  and  turn  away 
from  them.  Maiden  hopes,  wifely  trust,  mother's 
love,  are  not  for  her.  The  sacred  privacy  and 
dear  delights  of  home, 

*'  The  graces  and  the  loves  that  make  \ 

The  music  of  the  march  of  life,"  \ 

she  gazes  upon  with  tear-dimmed  eyes  and  pale 
lips ;  for  between  them  and  her  rises  a  sad  vision,     / 

5*  ' 


106  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

—  a  care-worn  mother  tottering  graveward,  broth- 
ers and  sisters  who  will  rush  into  rude,  ignorant 
and  immature  maturity  but  for  her.  Her  path 
lies  straight,  but  very  rough.  Duty  points  with 
stem  finger,  "  This  is  the  way,  walk  ye  in  it," 
and  with  silent  heroism  she  presses  the  thorn  to 
her  heart,  and  gathers  up  her  womanly  robes, 
trembling,  but  unwavering.  Have  you  no  word 
for  her  ?  You  roll  out  musical  periods,  exhorting 
her  companions  to  be  content  with  the  love  that 
waits  to  receive  them  with  open  arms :  can  you 
not  speak  a  word  of  comfort  to  her  for  whom  no 
arms  shall  ever  be  outstretched?  Must  she  feel 
herself  exiled  from  man's  sympathy,  because  a 
man's  sin  forces  her  to  assume  a  man's  duty? 
The  poor  ye  have  always  with  you,  —  the  or- 
phaned, the  unfriended,  the  faint-hearted.  They 
stand  alone,  and  see  the  jostling,  eager,  selfish 
crowds  go  by,  and  draw  back,  shrinking  and  shud- 
dering, but  have  no  sanctuary  from  the  throng. 
Speak  to  them.  Give  them  your  sympathy. 
Show  them  the  dignity  of  self-respect.  From 
your  wiser  years  and  your  larger  experience,  as- 
sure them  that  a  crown  of  thorns  nobly  worn  shall 
become  a  crown  of  rejoicing,  to  be  cast  before  the 
Lord.  Strengthen  the  weak  hands  and  confirm 
the  feeble  knees,  by  telling  them  hovv  duty  is 
greater  than  pleasure,  integrity  better  than  happi- 
ness, and  he  alone  rich  who  is  "  dowered  with  the 
hate  of  hate,  the  scorn  of  scorn,  the  love  of  love." 


MEN  AND  WOMEN.  107 

O  men,  O  brothers,  you  talk  of  woman's  influence, 
but  you  do  not  know  your  own.  You  cannot  sus- 
pect how  much  a  true  woman  dreads  your  sarcasm, 
who  will  yet,  if  need  be,  brave  it  unflinchingly, — 
how  priceless  is  your  sympathy  and  approbation  to 
the  heart  that  will  yet  throb  just  as  highly  without 
it.  Cease  to  exhaust  yourselves  on  those  whose 
every  step  is  watched  and  guarded  by  home  affec- 
tion, who  face  no  sterner  "  duty  than  to  give 
caresses,"  who  neither  need  nor  heed  your  injunc- 
tions, and  turn  to  those  whose  weakness  must  be 
consolidated  into  strength,  and  to  whom  your  ap- 
preciation would  be  as  the  breath  of  life. 

Even  those  whom  you  do  address  are  not  bene- 
fited thereby.  Upon  the  young  girl  about  to  leave 
school  for  her  home  of  comfort  and  peace  and 
plenty,  you  inculcate  the  duty  of  making  home 
happy,  because  you  think  it  is  the  most  appropriate 
thing  you  can  do.  Very  well,  if  you  will  only  tell 
her  how  to  do  it.  But  you  do  not.  You  utter  glit- 
tering and  sounding  generalities.  You  are  definite 
in  your  directions  only  where  her  way  is  straight 
ahead.  You  bid  her  minister  to  the  wants  of  her 
parents,  to  rock  the  cradle  of  their  declining  years 
gently,  to  tend  the  couch  of  sickness,  to  supply  the 
wants  of  the  poor,  and  be  a  useful  member  of 
society.  To  what  end  ?  All  these  things  she  is 
forward  to  do.  She  dusts  the  parlor,  sees  that  the 
guest-chamber  is  aired,  supplies  the  breakfast-table 
with   flowers,  reads  to  the  one  or  two  poor  old 


108  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

women  of  the  village,  tends  her  garden,  teaches  in 
the  Sunday  school,  and  —  what  then  ?  Half  her 
time  remains  on  her  hands.  Her  soul  is  full  of 
the  nebulae  of  great  thoughts,  lofty  purposes.  Can 
you  help  her  resolve  them  into  perfect,  self-radiant, 
and  radiating  suns  ?  From  the  chaos,  as  yet  with- 
out form  and  void,  will  you  teach  her  to  evoke  a 
world  of  symmetry  and  beauty,  which  God  the 
Judge  on  the  Last  Day  shall  pronounce  to  be  very 
good  ?  You  have  a  pleasant  voice,  and  play  well 
on  an  instrument,  but  "  How  shall  I  make  my  life 
noble  ?  "  is  her  eager  cry.  "  How  shall  I  wrest 
from  every  day  the  heroism  that  it  holds  ?  What 
shall  I  do  with  my  Monday,  and  Tuesday,  and 
Wednesday,  —  with  my  June  and  September?'* 
Can  you  answer  her  these  questions?  Can  you 
even  mark  off  a  section  of  the  heavens,  that  she 
may  sweep  with  her  telescope,  to  find  the  answer  ? 
If  you  cannot,  your  words  are  as  idle  tales.  You 
might  just  as  well  repeat  your  lecture  as  gay  nuns 
do  their  prayers,  — "  Our  Father,  which  art  in 
heaven,  &c.,  &c.,  &c..  Amen."  Of  what  con- 
ceivable use  is  it  to  tell  her  that  a  woman's  place 
is  the 

"  Sweet,  safe  corner  by  the  household  fire, 
Behind  the  heads  of  children," 

when  the  very  clay  of  which  the  bricks  are  to  be 
made,  with  which  the  hearth  is  to  be  built,  on 
which  the  fire  is  to  be  kindled,  around  which  the 
children  are  to  gather,  behind  whose   heads  she 


MEN  AND   WOMEN.  109 

is  to  hide,  is  not  yet  dug !  This  mode  of  talking 
is  all  wrong,  —  to  some  useless,  to  others  abso- 
lutely hurtful.  I  have  not  observed  that  American 
girls  are  generally  too  coy.  They  do  not,  to  the 
best  of  my  knowledge,  evince  any  conventual  epi- 
demic, any  unnatural  repugnance  to  the  society  of 
men,  any  accountable  reluctance  to  assume  the 
duties  of  wife  and  mother.  A  respectable  middle- 
aged  gentleman,  of  rare  intellectual  endowment 
and  excellent  moral  character,  tells  them,  sono- 
rously and  seriously,  that  they  will  probably  be 
married  one  day,  and  they  would  better  be  getting 
ready  for  it.  He  evidently  thinks  the  sweet  little 
innocents  never  heard  or  thought  of  such  a  thing 
before,  and  would  go  on  burying  their  curly  heads 
in  books,  and  sicklying  their  rosy  faces  with  "  the 
pale  cast  of  thought "  till  the  end  of  time,  if  he 
did  not  stir  up  their  pure  minds  by  way  of  remem- 
brance. My  dear  sir,  a  good  many  of  your  art- 
less hearers  think  of  nothing  else  from  morning 
till  night.  They  talk  of  their  wedding-ring  long 
before  they  can  give  you  a  definition  of  the  circle 
w^hich  is  its  form.  They  are  firm  believers  in  the 
truth  of  the  principle,  that  it  is  better  to  be  ready 
and  not  go,  than  to  go  and  not  be  ready ;  and  they 
have  already  decided  to  be  married  in  church  with 
the  Episcopal  form,  because  it  is  so  much  more 
impressive.  To  us  who  are  behind  the  scenes, 
and  know  all  this,  your  exhortations  sound,  to  say 
the  least,  rather  funny ;  and  we  cannot  avoid  the 


110  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

faintest  sowp^on  of  a  suspicion  that  you  are  carry- 
ing coals  to  Newcastle. 

"  Of  all  the  blind  fanatics  in  this  perverse 
world,"  says  one  writer,  "  your  professed  hater  of 
fanaticism  is  the  most  inveterate  and  conspicuous ; 
of  all  agitators,  your  determined  foe  to  agitation 
is  the  most  pestilent  and  effective.  Many  an  ex- 
citement has  been  kept  up  long  after  it  would  have 
died  a  natural  death,  by  the  wrong-headed  hostility 
of  those  who  had  determined  and  proclaimed  that 
it  should  be  suppressed  instanter.^'  These  men 
have  profound  faith  in  the  vis  inertice.-  Like  the 
dog  Noble,  they  beHeve  that  a  squirrel  once  in 
a  hole  cannot  by  any  possibility  have  got  out 
again.  If  women  are  ever  caught  doing  a  fool- 
ish thing,  men  evidently  fancy  that  they  must  be 
keeping  up  a  steady  doing  it.  Many  years  ago, 
women  compressed  themselves  suicidally  in  steel 
and  whalebone,  and,  though  the  custom  is  dead 
and  buried  beyond  all  hope  of  resurrection,  there 
are  men  not  a  few  w^ho  will  go  down  to  their 
graves  in  the  firm  belief  that  women  are  killing 
themselves  off  by  thousands  with  tight  lacing 
Here  and  there  a  foolish  girl  is  said  to  have  been 
found  on  damp  pavements  with  thin  shoes.  Cor- 
ollary :  no  end  of  homilies  on  the  folly  and  wick- 
edness of  sacrificing  health  to  beauty.  A  handful 
of  women  have  occasionally  amused  themselves  by 
thrusting  a  long  stick  into  the  mud-puddle  of  so- 
ciety, and  forthwith  what  a  hubbub  among  the  ani- 


MEN  AND  .  WOMEN.  1 1 1 

malculae  !  Fie  !  fie  !  Do  men  really  believe  that 
the  mass  of  women  are  possessed  with  an  insane 
and  insatiable  desire  to  distinguish  themselves  be- 
fore the  world  ?  Nothing  is  farther  from  the  truth. 
A  decade  of  years  may  perhaps  produce  as  many 
women  who  see  fairer  pictures  than  in  the  house- 
hold fire,  who  find  sweeter  music  than  the  lisping 
voice  of  childhood,  but  such  cases  are  very  rare. 
On  the  contrary,  women  need  to  be  roused  rather 
than  repressed.  They  are  far  too  apt  to  be  con- 
tent with  small  attainments  and  ignoble  ends. 
This  woman's  rights  agitation  is  but  the  natural 
reaction  from  frivolity,  aimlessness,  inanity.  It  is 
only  a  move  too  far  in  the  right  direction,  or  rather 
an  injudicious  means  to  compass  worthy  ends.  I 
can  far  more  readily  sympathize  with  those  who 
are,  blindly  and  blunderingly  it  may  be,  but  hon- 
estly, endeavoring  to  right  the  wrong,  than  with 
those  who  weakly  acquiesce.  When  such  things 
as  these  happen  without  comment,  —  that  a  school 
for  boys  and  girls  is  changed  into  one  for  girls 
only,  the  boys  being  removed  with  their  "  excel- 
lent and  efficient  Principal"  to  another,  and  the 
girls  remaining  behind  with  their  female  assistant, 
who  receives  less  than  half  the  salary  of  her  male 
predecessor,  —  when  a  father  on  his  death-bed  is 
allowed  by  law  to  bequeath  the  only  child  of  his 
wife  to  strangers,  and  that  child  is  torn  from  her 
widowed  bosom,  and  all  her  prayers  and  tears 
and  agony  of  love  are  of  no  avail,  —  do  you  won- 


112  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

der  that  a  woman  can  help  thinking,  if  she  has 
any  think  in  her  ?  And  if  she  be  a  woman  of 
energy,  accustomed  to  act  as  well  as  think,  and 
if  the  men  around  her  be  stupid  or  indifferent, 
is  it  strange  that,  with  her  burning  sense  of  wrong, 
her  woman's  intense  hatred  of  injustice  and  sym- 
pathy with  the  oppressed,  she  should  herself  strive 
to  redress  the  grievance  ?  And  if  so  be  the  reins 
shall  slacken  in  her  unwonted  hand,  —  if  her 
feeble  fingers  essay  in  vain  to  stay  her  steed  of 
heaven,  —  if,  on  the  sharp  thorns  or  jagged  rocks 
of  some  untrodden  mountain-side,  you  shall  see 
her  womanhood  lie,  bleeding,  shattered,  formless, 
—  you  may  weep  and  wail,  but  —  mock,  if  you 
dare ! 

They,  therefore,  are  right  —  right  in  their  prem- 
ises, though  wrong  in  their  conclusions  —  who 
dolefully  affirm  our  Female  Conventions  and  things 
of  that  ilk  to  be  the  sad  results  of  our  free  society. 
They  are  the  results  of  free  society ;  just  as  the 
smoke  and  soot  and  cinders  belched  forth  by 
George  Stephenson's  first  locomotive  engine  were 
the  results  of  the  practical  application  of  a  great 
principle,  —  the  might  of  matter  quelled  by  the 
might  of  mind.  But  just  as  the  more  perfect 
elucidation  of  that  principle  converted  this  very 
smoke  and  soot  into  a  motive  power,  so  will  free 
society,  when  it  has  learned  wisdom,  turn  all  this 
surplus  activity  into  its  proper  channels,  and  make 
all  things  work  together  for  good,  —  which  is  God. 


MEN  AND   WOMEN  113 

Newspaper  readers  will  perhaps  remember  a 
statement,  originating,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  in  Mas- 
sachusetts, but  copied  by  our  enhghtened  free 
press  as  accurately,  extensively,  and  intelligently 
as  a  flock  of  sheep  follow  their  leader  over  the 
gap  in  a  stone  fence.  I  am  sorry  that  I  cannot 
give  the  paragraph  exactly  ;  the  writer  seemed  to 
have  bounced  suddenly  against  the  fact,  that  there 
are  not  so  many  marriages  in  the  country  as  there 
used  to  be,  and  ought  to  be.  Being  greatly  exer- 
cised thereby,  he  casts  about  for  a  cause  and  a 
remedy  for  this  deplorable  state  of  things.  In  a 
frenzy  of  haste,  he  seizes  his  cudgel,  and  bangs 
away  at  whatever  comes  within  his  reach  ;  and, 
as  he  could  not  walk  up  and  down  the  fine  old 
high  street  of  his  native  city  without  seeing  troops 
of  handsomely-dressed  women,  he  "falls  to"  upon 
female  extravagance.  "  I  have  found  it !  I  have 
found  it !  "  he  cries  with  ill-concealed  exultation  ; 
and  his  sorrow  for  the  fact  is  for  a  moment  over- 
powered by  rapture  at  his  own  sagacity  in  discov- 
ering it.  "  It  costs  so  much  to  support  a  wife, 
that  is  the  reason  why  the  young  men  don't  marry. 
They  feel  that  they  must  wait  till  their  income 
is  enough  to  maintain  a  wife^n  the  style  to  which 
she  has  been  accustomed.  Girls  think  they  must 
begin  where  their  mothers  leave  off,"  &c.  The 
mother,  too,  receives  her  share  of  the  blame,  and 
generally  the  lion's  share ;  for  it  somehow  happens 
in  almost  all  these  jeremiades,  that  the  father  comes 


lU  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

off  scot-free.  Then  statistics  are  duly  produced 
to  show  the  quantity  of  silks,  laces,  velvets,  and 
feathers  yearly  imported,  and  the  whole  ends  with 
a  dismal  groan  over  the  degeneracy  of  the  nine- 
teenth century,  and  a  prolonged  howl  for  the  mel- 
ancholy prospects  of  the  twentieth,  in  case  there 
should  be  any  twentieth. 

Now  this  is  an  elevated  way  of  treating  the  sub- 
ject, is  it  not?  Are  we  not  placed  in  a  dignified 
position?  They  come  to  us  with  a  silk  in  one 
hand,  and  a  husband  in  the  other,  —  "  Which  will 
you  choose?  You  can't  have  both.  Come,  now, 
there 's  a  dear,  wear  calico,  and  it  shall  have  a 
nice  little  husband,  so  it  shall."  Girls,  don't  do 
it !  There  are  thousands  more  women  than  men 
in  New  England,  and  the  chances  are  that  you 
lose  both  husband  and  dress.  The  husband  is 
very  well,  but  at  any  rate  make  sure  of  the  silk. 
It  is  your  duty  to  dress  as  well  and  look  as  pretty 
as  you  can,  consistently  with  your  other  duties. 
You  are  to  be  guided  by  what  is  right,  not  by 
what  a  rabble  of  men  may  like.  And,  above  all 
things,  don't  retrench  because  men  threaten  not 
to  marry  you  unless  you  do.  Just  let  them  try 
it,  and  see  who  wi|^  hold  out  the  longest. 

But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  statement  is  false, 
— ^  at  least  to  this  extent,  that  women  are,  if  any- 
thing, less  extravagant  than  men.  They  dress  up^ 
not  down,  to  their  fathers',  and  brothers',  and 
husbands'  wishes.     I  do  not  believe  there  is  one 


MEN  AND   WOMEN,  115 

woman  in  five  hundred  in  New  England,  who, 
if  frankly  informed  of  the  sources  and  amount  of 
her  husband's  income,  would  not  cheerfully  and 
handsomely  bring  her  expenses  within  it.  Women 
do  undoubtedly  spend  a  great  deal  of  money ; 
•but  if  their  fathers  or  husbands  give  it  to  them 
to  spend,  why  should  they  be  blamed?  How 
many  failures,  I  beg  to  know,  have  been  laid  on 
the  shoulders  of  women  the  last  few  years  ?  But 
when  the  numbers  are  counted  up  and  handed 
in,  will  the  statistician  be  so  good  as  to  tell  us  in 
how  many  cases  the  husband  had  been  in  the 
habit  of  making  his  wife  conversant  with  the  state 
of  his  affairs,  —  how  many  times  the  wife  knew, 
or  had  any  means  of  knowing,  what  the  amount 
of  her  expenses  for  the  year  ought  to  be. 

There  are  very  few  men  who  are  capable  of  tell- 
ing whether  a  woman  is  extravagant  or  not.  It 
is  very  dangerous  to  attempt  to  judge  the  cost  of 
her  dress  from  its  appearance.  It  is  not  the  most 
showy  things  that  cost  the  most,  nor  the  most  sim- 
ple that  cost  the  least.  It  is  not  the  most  ele- 
gantly, not  even  the  most  richly-dressed  woman, 
who  runs  up  the  highest  bill.  I  know  women 
who  tread  royally  in  satin  and  velvet,  who  enter- 
tain magnificently,  and  give  generously,  who  yet 
can  economically,  and  do  merrily,  spend  hour 
after  hour  in  making  mosquito-bars,  covering  otto- 
mans, putting  locks  on  doors,  upholstering  old 
chairs  quite  "  as  weel's  the  new,"  mending  sewing- 


116  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

machines,  and  by  thousands  of  ingenious  and 
happy  devices  saving  money  from  animal  wants, 
to  spend  it  in  generous,  intellectual,  and  social 
pleasures.  If  your  lady-love's  dress  does  not  of- 
fend your  taste,  my  fine  fellow,  never  trouble 
yourself  about  its  price ;  for  the  flounces  whicli 
make  you  so  uneasy  are  seven  years  old,  and 
redeemed  from  a  dress  which  her  mother  cast 
off  when  she  went  into  mourning ;  —  the  velvet 
basque,  which  you  must  allow  to  be  very  becom- 
ing, is  the  joint  product  of  two  worn-out  cloaks 
of  her  sisters ;  —  the  bonnet  was  made  by  herself 
from  a  lace  veil  that  has  been  in  the  family  for 
years,  and  all  the  while  she  was  pricking  her  soft 
fingers  over  it,  she  smiled  unconsciously  at  the 
thought  of  pleasing  your  eyes ;  and  this  is  all  the 
thanks  she  gets  for  it.  Insensate !  Look  at  her 
face.  Is  it  blank?  To  her  conversation.  Is  it 
stale,  flat,  and  unprofitable  ?  Find  out  the  stuf! 
of  which  she  is  made,  —  the  texture  of  her  soul. 
If  there  is  a  jewel,  wear  it  on  your  brow  and  in 
your  heart,  though  the  casket  be  gold.  If  there 
is  a  treasure,  make  it  yours,  though  the  vessel  be 
rarest  Sevres  China.  If  she  does  not  love  you 
enough  to  prefer  poverty  with  you  to  wealth 
without  you,  her  love  is  little  worth.  The  fault 
is  not  that  her  purse  is  full,  but  that  her  heart 
is  empty.  You  insult  not  womanhood  merely, 
but  human  nature,  by  supposing  that  the  inci- 
dents of  life   are   more   valuable   than  life  itself. 


MEN  AND   WOMEN.  117 

You  discover  innate  meanness  in  that  you  can 
conceive  of  a  love  influenced  by  dollars  and  cents. 
What  kind  of  affection,  pray,  is  that  which  counts 
the  cost,  and  coolly  compares  chances  ?  If  you 
are  a  true  man  and  she  is  a  true  woman,  you  will 
so  enfold  her  life,  so  fill  her  heart  and  her  eyes, 
that  she  will  have  no  power  to  perceive  any  lack. 
If  you  are  not  true,  you  have  no  right  to  marry 
her  or  any  one  else.     Begone ! 

"  But,"  moans  our  editor,  "  a  man  who  finds  he 
has  married  a  wardrobe  and  a  piano,  and  not  a  liv- 
ing, loving  woman,  is  most  egregiously  taken  in." 
Of  course  he  is,  and  deserves  to  be.  Why  did  he 
marry  the  wardrobe  ?  Whose  fault  is  it  ?  The 
world  was  all  before  him.  What  right  has  any 
man  to  marry  a  woman  before  he  knows  whether 
she  is  a  wardrobe  or  not,  —  where  her  dress  ends 
and  her  soul  begins  ?  He  has  every  opportunity 
for  knowing  ;  and  if  he  does  not  choose  to  take 
the  trouble,  let  him  not  complain.  He  at  least 
has  no  cause  to  cry  foul  play.  The  game  was  not 
even,  inasmuch  as  his  superiority  gave  him  the 
advantage ;  and  if  a  man  finds  himself  check- 
mated by  a  wardrobe,  more  shame  to  him,  but 
don't  let  him  come  whimpering  to  us  for  pity  and 
sympathy.  I  for  one  feel  very  much  as  did  the 
old  woman  witnessing,  with  arms  akimbo,  the  con- 
flict between  her  husband  and  a  bear,  "  Go  it,  hus- 
band !     Go  it,  bear !     I  donH  care  which  heats  !  " 

"  O,    if  parents   in    educating   their    daughters 


118  COUNTRY  LIVINV. 

would  but  insist  upon  their  having  a  reasonable 
notion  of  what  it  is  to  be  a  wife,  rather  than  upon 
a  smattering  of  French,  and  a  httle  thrumming 
upon  the  piano,  there  would  be  such  a  revolution," 
continues  our  disconsolate  author.  (I  should  like 
first  privately  to  put  the  question,  whether  any 
man  ever  wrote  upon  any  subject  connected  with 
woman,  without  being  sure,  somewhere  in  the 
course  of  his  article,  to  trot  out  that  unflagging 
piano.  I  have  heard  many  musical  performances 
in  my  clay,  but  I  never  was  so  tired  of  hearing 
any  girl  thrum  upon  a  rosewood  instrument,  as 
I  am  of  hearing  men  thrum  on  this  imaginary 
one.)  But  what  do  you  mean,  you  talkers  and 
writers,  in  saying  that  girls  should  be  educated  to, 
be  wives  and  mothers  ?  Is  not  a  wife  a  woman  ? 
Is  there  any  special  course  of  instruction  to  be 
followed  ?  Is  not  that  education  the  best  which, 
most  fully  develops  every  power,  —  moral,  mental, 
and  physical  ?  Womanhood  is  greater  than  wife- 
hood. It  comprehends  and  embraces  it.  The 
best  woman  will  make  the  best  wife.  If  the  mind 
of  a  woman  is  dwarfed,  and  her  faculties  weak- 
ened by  disuse,  she  will  be  an  inefficient  wife, 
because  she  is  an  inefficient  woman.  If,  on  the 
other  hand,  her  mind  is  trained,  her  judgment 
cultivated,  her  powers  developed,  she  will  be  ade- 
quate to  any  emergency  as  woman  or  wife.  Soul 
is  stronger  than  circumstance.  If  a  girl  is  a  fool 
in  silks,  will  she  be  any  the  less  a  fool  in  calico? 


MEN  AND   WOMEN,  119 

Does  a  feeble,  frivolous  nature  grow  strong  and 
self-reliant,  by  being  transferred  from  a  palace  to 
a  cottage.  What  folly  is  this  ?  Let  girls  be 
taught  to  make  the  most  of  themselves.  Let 
them  fulfil  present  duties,  and  the  future  will 
take  care  of  itself  She  who  walks  grandly  as  a 
woman  will  not  walk  unworthily  as  a  wife.  She 
who  stands  upright  alone,  will  not  drag  her  hus- 
band downward.  She  who  guides  her  own  life 
wisely  and  well,  will  not  rule  her  household  with 
an  erring  hand.  Familiarity  with  the  details  of 
domestic  management  will  be  a  help,  but  want 
of  familiarity  will  not  be  an  insurmountable  ob- 
stacle. 

I  lay  this  down  as  a  self-evident  prof)osition  : 
a  woman  of  sense,  married  to  the  right  man,  can 
do  anything. 

But  you,  O  maidens  and  matrons  beloved,  you 
are  greatly  to  be  blamed  for  this  style  of  acting 
and  tone  of  thinking.  You  care  too  little  to  be, 
and  too  much  to  seem.  You  must  command,  not 
ask,  respect.  You  must  not  complain  of  contempt, 
so  long  as  you  are  contemptible.  There  is  no 
power  to  keep  you  permanently  below  or  above 
your  proper  level.  In  this  great  rolling  sea  of 
society,  you  will  sink  or  swim  according  to  your 
specific  gravity.  If  you  are  stupid  and  heavy, 
plump  you  will  go  to  the  bottom  where  you  be- 
long. If  you  are  fight  and  empty,  —  no  cargo, 
no  ballast,  no  rudder,  —  you  will  be  tossed  about 


120  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

by  every  eddy,  aimless  and  useless,  except  as 
the  toy  of  an  hour.  You  must  be  well  pro- 
portioned, well  provisioned,  with  adequate  ma- 
chinery in  good  working  order,  if  you  would 
ride  the  waves  proudly  and  make  your  haven 
successfully.  Remember  this.  Whatever  is  done 
for  you  must  be  done  by  you.  All  real  improve- 
ment must  work  from  within  outward.  Woman's 
incapacity  is  the  only  real  barrier  to  woman's 
progress.  Whenever  women  show  themselves 
able,  men  will  show  themselves  willing.  This 
is  what  you  need,  —  strength,  calibre.  You  do 
not  set  half  enough  value  on  muscular  power. 
-Esthetic  young  lady-writers  and  sentimental 
penny-a<iiners  have  imbibed  and  propagated  the 
idea,  that  feebleness  and  fragility  are  womanly 
and  fascinating.  The  result  is,  a  legion  of  languid 
headaches,  an  interesting  inability  to  w^alk  half 
a  dozen  consecutive  miles,  a  delicate  horror  of 
open  windows,  northwest  wind,  and  wholesome 
rain-storms.  There  is  no  computing  the  amount 
of  charming  invalidism  following  in  the  wake  of 
such  a  line  as 

"  There  is  a  sweetness  in  woman's  decay,"  — 

a  lengthened  sweetness  long  drawn  out  by  some 
compliant  and  imitative  females.  I  do  not,  of 
course,  refer  to  real  invalids,  who  have  inherited 
feeble  constitutions,  and,  by  unavoidable  and  often 
unselfish  and  unceasing  wear  and  tear,  have  ex- 
hausted their  small  capital,  and  to  whom  hfe  is 


MEN  AND   WOMEN.  121 

become  one  long  .scene  of  weariness  and  pain. 
Heaven  help  them  bear  the  burden  ;  and  they 
do  bear  it  nobly,  often  accomplishing  what  ought 
to  make  their  ruddy  and  robust  sisters  blush  for 
shame  at  their  own  inefficiency.  I  mean  women 
who  have  every  opportunity  to  be  healthy,  but 
who  are  not  healthy,  —  who  are  sick  when  it  is 
their  duty  to  be  well.  A  woman  of  twenty,  in 
comfortable  circumstances,  ought  to  be  as  much 
ashamed  of  being  dyspeptic  as  of  being  drunk. 
Fathers  and  mothers,  burdened  with  cares  and 
anxieties,  may  neglect  physiological  laws  without 
impugning  their  moral  character ;  but  for  a  girl, 
care-free,  to  confess  such  an  impeachment,  is  pre- 
sumptive evidence  of  gluttony,  laziness,  or  igno- 
rance, and  generally  all  three.  This  is  not  ele- 
gant language,  I  know ;  but  when  we  have  learned 
to  call  things  by  their  right  names,  we  shall  have 
taken  one  step  towards  the  millennium ;  and  it 
is  an  indisputable  fact,  that  a  great  majority  of 
ailments  arise  from  over-eating  and  under-exer- 
cising. The  innumerable  hosts  of  nervous  diseases 
with  which  our  women  are  afflicted  are  always 
aggravated,  and  often  caused,  by  these  indulgences. 
Women  do  not  know  this,  and  if  they  did,  it 
would  be  of  httle  use,  so  long  as  they  consider 
illness  one  of  the  charms  of  beauty.  Let  the  idea 
once  get  firm  hold,  that  illness  is  stupid  and  vulgar, 
and  a  generation  or  two  —  nay,  even  a  year  or 
two  —  would  show  a  marked  change.     If  a  woman 

6 


122  COUNTRY  LIVING, 

is  ill,  let  her  take  it  for  granted  that  it  is  her 
first  business  to  get  well,  and  let  her  forthwith  set 
about  it.  A  good  stout  will,  a  resolute  purpose, 
would  work  wonders.  "  Few  persons  like  sick 
people,"  says  Charles  Lamb ;  "  as  for  me,  I  can- 
didly confess  I  hate  them."  Whatever  poetasters 
sing,  you  may  depend  upon  it,  a  good  digestion 
is  "  an  excellent  thing  in  a  woman." 

Health  once  re-established,  let  women  next  di- 
vest themselves  of  the  idea  that  moral  weakness  is 
an  essential  attribute  of  a  well-developed  cliarac- 
ter.  It  is  a  pandering  to  masculine  prejudices 
with  wliich  I  have  no  patience.  If  there  is  any- 
thing more  disagreeable  than  your  strong-minded 
women,  it  is  she  who  denounces  them  to  ingratiate 
herself  with  men,  —  who  obtrudes  herself  as  not 
being  one  of  them.  Whenever  prominent  women 
are  made  the  subject  of  conversation  by  men,  if 
there  is  a  possible  peg  in  their  character  or  course 
on  wliich  a  commendation  can  be  hung,  be  sure  you 
hang  it.  Scold  them  or  spurn  them  privately  as 
much  as  you  think  they  deserve,  but  defend  them 
publicly  as  much  as  you  can.  Scorn  the  meanness 
of  striving  to  attract  men's  admiration  by  aifecting 
little  weaknesses.  "I  dislike  to  travel  alone," 
said  a  young  lady  ;  "  I  always  feel  as  depend- 
ent as  a  child."  Dependent  on  what  ?  Whom  ? 
How?  It  is  exceedingly  disagreeable  to  be  obliged 
to  sit  on  the  same  seat  with  a  person  who  evident- 
ly does  not  believe  that  man  is  an  amphibious  ani- 


MEN  AND   WOMEN.  123 

mal.  It  is  not  pleasant  to  elbow  your- way  through 
a  mob  of  vociferous  hackmen.  You  feel  safer  and 
far  more  comfortable  to  be  under  the  care  of  a  good 
traveller;  but  that  the  necessity  of  independent 
and  intelligent  action  should  produce  a  feeling  of 
dependence,  indicates  an  unsoundness  somewhere 
which  should  be  looked  after  at  once.  I  kno\^  no 
risks  in  ordinary  travelling  so  great  that  one  should 
prefer  an  indifferent  companion  to  one's  own  soci- 
ety. I  do  not  believe  men  apotheosize  this  amiable 
incapacity  to  the  extent  supposed ;  but  what  if  they 
do  ?  God  does  not.  He  gave  every  muscle  and 
nerve,  every  power  and  faculty,  to  be  used.  He 
never  intended  that  we  should  effervesce  in  a  sigh, 
or  collapse  to  a  shadow.  If  men  think  so,  it  only 
shows  that  they  need,  as  the  Brahmin  said,  "  to 
have  a  little  more  intellect  put  into  them." 

The  old  oak  quivers  through  all  its  tremulous 
leaves  at  the  passing  of  the  softest  summer  breeze ; 
but  deep  hidden  in  the  heart  of  its  greenness  flows 
its  sap  of  life ;  and  away  down  under  the  ground 
spread  out  its  roots  of  strength ;  and  it  stands  the 
storms  of  a  hundred  years  ;  nor  does  it  murmur 
out  a  less  delicious  music  in  June,  because  the 
skirring  blasts  of  December  have  no  power  to  de- 
stroy. They  make  a  great  mistake,  who  think  a 
strong,  brave,  self-poised  woman  is  unwomanly. 
The  stronger  she  is,  the  truer  she  is  to  her  wo- 
manly instincts,  —  the  more  unswervingly  does  she 
point  to  the  mysterious  pole-star  of  her  woman- 


124  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

hood.  A  feeble  soul  loves,  hates,  wills,  feebly 
It  is  only  those  who  have  borne  the  burden  and 
heat  of  the  day  who  know  the  blessedness  of  the 
evening-tide.  It  is  only  those  who  have  walked 
well,  unsustained,  who  fully  appreciate  the  unut- 
terable happiness  of  leaning  on  a  stronger  arm. 
Love  is  like  the  cholera,  dysentery,  and  other 
acute  diseases.  An  emaciated,  sickly  nature  takes 
it  lightly,  and  recovers  quickly ;  but  with  your 
generous,  hearty,  healthy,  robust,  vigorous  souls, 
it  goes  hard.  Ten  to  one  if  they  ever  recover  ; 
and  when  they  do,  they  bear  the  scars  for  life. 
Do  not,  therefore,  fear  to  be  too  strong.  Be  not 
afraid  to  grapple  with  the  higher  mathematics,  lest 
you  should  be  called  strong-minded.  "  Sir  !  " 
thundered  the  rhinoceros-hided  Ursa  Major  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  "  what  harm  does  it  do  a  man 
to  call  him  Holofernes  ? "  What  harm,  indeed, 
in  being  called  strong-minded  ?  It  is  better  than 
weak-minded.  Do  whatever  you  think,  on  ma- 
ture deliberation,  you  ought  to  do.  "  Be  sure  you 
are  right,  and  then  go  ahead."  Never  mind  what 
men  think  about  it.  I  do  not  mean  that  you  are 
not  to  try  or  to  wish  to  please  them.  It  is  both 
natural  and  proper.  But  do  it  honestly  and  open- 
ly. Have  a  benevolent  desire  to  give  pleasure, 
and  it  is  very  probable  that  the  innocent  desire  to 
please  will  be  gratified.  If  you  cannot  please 
without  being  false  to  yourself,  you  would  better 
displease.      Admiration  gained  by   slurring    over 


MEN  AND  WOMEN.  125 

your  convictions,  or  refraining  from  having  any,  is 
dearly  bought.  Best  of  all,  take  no  thought  of 
pleasing.  Have  no  anxiety  about  it.  Make  your- 
self worthy  of  love,  admiration,  reverence,  and 
you  will  always  hold  trumps. 

"Woman's  devotion."  is  another  theme  which 
has  been  run  into  the  ground.  Orators  extol  it. 
Editors  paragraph  it.  Poets  rhyme  it,  and  women 
exemplify  the  old  proverb,  "  Give  a  dog  a  bad 
name,  and  kill  him."  But  devotion,  of  itself,  has 
no  moral  character.  It  is  simply  stickiness,  shared 
in  common,  and  to  a  far  greater  degree,  by  oysters, 
molasses,  blood-suckers,  court-plaster,  and  office- 
seekers.  Intelligent,  voluntary  devotion  —  devo- 
tion to  a  great  principle  endangered,  to  justice 
though  obscured,  to  nobility  though  persecuted 
■ — is  good.  But  a  discerning  public  utters  devout 
moral  reflections  over  a  wife's  devotion  to  her 
scamp  of  a  husband.  He  commits  theft,  and  is 
thrown  into  prison ;  he  is  unkind  and  brutal  in  his 
treatment  of  her ;  or  he  is  coolly  indifferent  to  her 
happiness,  and  alive  to  the  charms  of  other  women, 
—  but  still  she  clings  to  him  with  all  a  woman's 
devotion. 

Now  I  beg  to  ask  this  question.  When  a 
woman  marries,  what  does  she  marry?  Is  it  a 
coat,  moustache,  and  umbrella?  If  it  is,  then  so 
long  as  the  coat,  moustache,  and  umbrella  are 
extant,  she  does  well  to  devote  herself  to  them 
with  constancy  and  fervor.     But  if,  as  is  popu- 


126  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

larly  supposed,  she  marries  a  soul,  a  heart,  a 
character,  then,  when  she  discovers  that  the  soul 
rung  false,  the  heart  •is  not  there,  and  the  char- 
acter assumed,  I  do  not  see  what  there  is  to  cling 
to,  nor  where  is  the  merit  in  clinging.  You 
love  what  you  think  a  man  is,  not  necessarily 
what  he  is.  You  cherish  reverently  a  lock  of 
hair,  because  it  once  shaded  the  brow  of  an  ab- 
sent friend;  but  when  you  find  that  you  have 
been  deceived,  and  that  it  is  only  from  the  head 
of  Tom,  Dick,  or  Harry,  who  happened  to  be 
tonsured  at  the  same  time  and  place,  you  cast  it 
from  you  in  disgust.  We  admire  Satan,  appear- 
ing to  us  as  an  angel  of  light;  but  when  the 
horns  protrude,  shall  we  still  cHng  to  them  with 
woman's  devotion  ?  Heaven  forbid !  Do  I  then 
aver  that  a  woman  may  break  away  from  her 
marriage  vows  so  soon  as  she  becomes  dissatis- 
fied with  her  husband?  No  more  than  I  would 
advise  you  to  burn  down  your  house  because  it 
is  not  built  according  to  contract.  You  may 
alter  it  if  you  can,  and  if  not,  you  must  make  the 
best  of  it  as  it  is.  But  you  need  not  admire  and 
extol  it,  just  as  it  would  have  been  right  for  you 
to  do  if  it  really  were  what  you  wished  and 
planned  it  to  be.  A  woman  judges  wrong  in 
the  chief  incident  of  her  life.  She  makes  a  mis- 
take, whose  consequences  are  far-reaching,  and 
very  deplorable,  but  she  must  bear  them.  Her 
busbarid's  neglect  or  refusal  to  fulfil  his  part  of 


MEN  AND  WOMEN.  127 

the  contract  does  not  justify  her  non-fulfilment 
any  further  than  is  necessary.  I  say  than  is  ne- 
cessary^ for  the  promise  is  of  such  a  nature  that 
I  do  not  see  how  it  is  in  her  power  to  keep  the 
whole  of  it,  and,  consequently,  what  is  the  pos- 
sible use  of  making  it.  She  vows  to  love,  honor, 
and  obey ;  but  love  and  honor  do  not  depend  on 
the  will.  You  cannot  love  a  man  if  he  has  not 
the  qualities  which  inspire  love,  nor  honor  him 
when  he  ceases  to  be  honorable.  God,  it  is  true, 
commands  us  to  love  him ;  but  his  character  is 
such  that  it  needs  only  to  be  considered  to  be 
adored.  Man  is  a  long  way  from  Divinity,  and 
our  feelings  towards  him  cannot  be  bespoken  be- 
forehand. They  are  entirely  contingent  on  his 
deserts,  which  are.  variable.  Therefore,  a  woman 
promises  to  do  what  is  quite  beyond  the  sphere 
of  her  volition,  and  she  can  neither  keep  nor 
break  her  promise.  But  for  her  own  soul's  sake 
she  must  maintain  her  integrity.  She  must  be 
faithful  and  just  and  gentle  and  blameless.  If 
she  does  more  than  this,  —  if  she  is  so  unfortu- 
nately constituted  that  she  still  prostrates  herself 
before  the  fragments  of  her  broken  and  debased 
idol,  —  she  is  to  be  pitied.  She  is  not  to  be 
praised. 

For  a  grand  nature  in  ruins  we  may  have  a' 
mournful  and  tender  reverence.  For  a  nature 
which  we  thought  grand,  but  which  proved  to 
be  petty,  we  have  only .  contempt. 


128  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

This  idea  of  devotion  is  sometimes  carried  to  a 
most  unreasonable,  unjust,  and  mischievous  extent. 

John  Jones  and  Sarah  Smith  played  together 
when  they  were  little  children,  and  took  sleigh- 
rides  together  when  they  had  become  great  chil- 
dren. He  has  given  her  innumerable  ribbons 
and  flowers  and  candies,  and  she  has  worked 
him  a  watch-case,  a  guard-chain,  and  a  pair  of 
slippers.  Of  course,  they  are  "  engaged."  So 
says  the  world  of  Onionville,  and  so,  very  likely, 
they  think  themselves.  At  least,  they  have  as 
yet  formed  no  higher  ideas  of  happiness  than  to 
gather  flowers  and  work  watch-cases  for  each 
other  all  their  lives  long.  Presently  John's 
father  removes  to  the  city,  and  John  goes  to 
school,  and  subsequently  to  college,  and  then  to 
a  theological  seminary.  All  this  while  he  cher- 
ishes a  beautiful  and  fragrant  memory,  and  looks 
forward  with  a  young  man's  ardor  to  the  time 
when  boyish  and  girlish  fancy  shall  be  moulded 
into  mature  and  undying  love.  In  the  mean 
time  his  mind  becomes  cultivated  by  reading  and 
study,  his  manners  polished  by  mingling  with 
beauty  and  refinement.  He  visits  his  early  home, 
and  rushes  into  the  presence  of  Sarah  Smith. 
What?  Is  that  Sarah  Smith?  Is  that  girl  in  a 
'green  and  blue  broad-striped  de  laine  dress,  with 
a  bright  plaid  ribbon  pinned  round  her  neck,  and 
a  silver  watch,  —  is  that  the  fair  dream  he  has 
borne  in  his  heart  these  years  ?     To  be  sure  there 


MEN  AND   WOMEN.  129 

are  rosy  cheeks  and  bright  eyes  and  a  buxom 
lass  ;  but  —  but  —  alas  !  poor  John.  He  has 
shrined  her  in  the  secret  chambers  of  his  soul  so 
long,  but  his  soul-love  grew  with  his  growth  and 
strengthened  with  his  strength,  and  Sarah  Smith 
did  not.  Walking  alone  by  the  river-side  where 
he  so  often  walked  with  her,  "What  shall  I  do?  " 
is  the  question  that  ever  and  ever  recurs.  He  is 
disappointed  and  miserable.  Like  too  many  of 
us,  he  finds  his  idol  is  but  common  clay,  —  very 
common.  His  happiness  is  turned  to  cinders, 
ashes,  and  dust.  Is  she  to  be  the  "  angel  of  the 
house "  ?  Is  hers  tlie  delicate  ethereal  nature 
which  is  to  bear  him  on  the  white  wings  of  love 
up  beyond  his  lower  level  ?  Will  she  help  him 
to  be  true  to  himself,  to  his  country,  to  his  God  ? 
Aside  from  himself,  can  he  make  her  happy? 
Will  she  not  see  enough  of  the  disparity  between 
them  to  be  discontented  and  uneasy?  Will  she 
not  be  entirely  out  of  her  sphere  in  the  circle  of 
his  educated  and  accomplished  friends?  The 
thought  makes  him  hot  and  nervous.  He  be- 
comes  restless,  dissatisfied,  and  cannot  sleep  o' 
nights.  Finally,  after  much  debating  and  many 
struggles,  he  decides  that  their  future  paths  must 
diverge,  and  he  tells  her  so  very  gently  and  ten- 
derly. She  has  felt  the  same  thing  all  along. 
She  knows  there  is  something  in  him  to  which 
she  cannot  respond.  She  feels  that  a  change 
has  been  going  on  during  the  years  of  their  sep- 


130  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

aration,  and  tliat  they  cannot  make  each  other 
happy.  They  part  friends.  She  reverences  his 
superiority.  He  respects  her  good  sense.  When 
he  is  gone,  she  goes  to  her  own  room,  has  a 
"good  cry,"  almost  wishes  she  were  safe  in 
heaven,  but  finally  thinks  she  would,  on  the 
whole,  prefer  to  wait  till  her  little  brothers  are 
grown  up,  and  on  the  strength  of  this  postpone- 
ment goes  to  bed  and  to  sleep,  —  is  paler  than 
usual  for  a  while,  but  her  voice  soon  recovers 
its  tone,  her  cheek  its  color,  her  step  its  elastici- 
ty, and  anon  she  is  as  merry  as  before. 

Well,  what  of  it?  Nothing,  if  you  would  only 
let  them  alone ;  nothing  whatever.  But  you 
won't,  —  busy,  prying,  inquisitive,  meddlesome, 
mischief-making  neighbor  that  you  are.  You 
think  John  left  town  rather  suddenly,  and  you 
fancy  Sarah  is  a  little  low-spirited ;  and  because 
Satan  can  find  nothing  else  for  your  idle  hands  to 
do,  you  put  this  and  that  together,  and  saunter 
over  to  Mr.  Smith's,  determined  to  ferret  out  the 
whole  matter.  You  find  Mrs.  Smith  alone.  You 
talk  indifferently  on  indifferent  topics.  Sarah 
comes  in.  You  say,  smilingly  and  carelessly, 
(your  look  is  a  lie,  for  you  are  intensely  interested, 
and  you  want  her  to  think  you  are  not,)  "  Well, 
Sarah,  I  suppose  that  handsome  young  minister 
is  going  to  carry  you  off  pretty  soon,  according 
to  all  appearances."  (On  the  contrary,  the  only 
reason  why  you  came  was  that,  according  to  all 


MEN  AND   WOMEN.  131 

appearances,  you  suppose  no  sucli  thing.)  Sarah 
blushes,  laughs  an  embarrassed  little  laugh,  hesi- 
tates a  moment,  and  leaves  the  room.  Her  mother 
says,  quietly,  "  That  is  all  given  up."  "  There  I, 
thought  so ! "  leaps  to  your  lips,  but  you  do  not 
say  it.  You  exclaim,  "  Do  tell !  "  as  if  you  never 
were  so  surprised  in  your  life ;  and  though  you  do 
not  succeed  in  extracting  the  details  of  the  occur- 
rence, you  have  in  the  simple  fact  sufficient  capi- 
tal to  do  a  flourishing  business  ;  so  you  blazon  it 
abroad  in  Onion ville ;  and  Onionville,  nothing 
loath,  takes  it  up,  and  at  every  sewing-circle  and 
tea-party  where  the  Smiths  happen  not  to  be  pres- 
ent, you  discuss  it  in  all  its  bearings.  Poor  John 
Jones  !  Every  virtue  is  torn  from  him  piecemeal, 
till  he  stands  before  you  a  mere  skeleton  of  vices ; 
while  Sarah  Smith,  in  your  transforming  hands, 
becomes  an  angel  of  light.  "  To  keep  company 
with  her  when  he  was  nobody,  and  cast  her  off 
when  he  got  his  learning !  "  indignantly  exclaims 
one.  "  Yes,"  chimes  in  a  second,  "  he  feels  very 
grand  now,  —  too  proud  to  take  a  woman  who 
knows  how  to  work.  He  must  have  a  city  lady, 
with  her  flowers  and  her  flounces."  "  Well,  let 
him  have  her,"  says  a  third,  "  there  '11  no  good 
come  of  it,  mark  my  word.  He  '11  come  to  some 
bad  end.  Never  knew  it  to  fail.  There  's  Captain 
David,  dismissed  Lucy  Perkins,  and  married 
Squire  Willis's  daughter.  What  with  her  board- 
ing-school airs  and  high-flown  notions,  her  pianos 


132  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

and  her  gold  chains,  and  her  new  cloak  every 
year,  she  soon  found  the  bottom  of  the  Captain's 
purse.  And  there  's  their  sons  now,  what  are  they 
good  for  ?  You  '11  see  "  ;  —  and  the  good  woman 
shakes  her  head  ominously.  Now,  kind-hearted 
people,  I  respect  your  sympathy,  but  what  is  the 
matter  ?  Why  are  you  making  all  this  ado  ?  Do 
you  really  mean  that  you  would  have  him  marry 
her  ?  Marry  her  in  the  gloom  of  that  cloud  which 
darkened  his  being?  Marry  her,  when  between 
his  soul  and  hers  there  could  be  no  real  commun- 
ion ?  It  is  true,  that,  before  he  was  able  to  read 
his  or  her  inner  history,  he  deemed  her  all-suffi- 
cient ;  but,  discovering  his  mistake,  he  would  do 
her  irreparable  wrong  if  he  should  allow  her  to 
go  on,  unknowing  and  unsuspecting  the  discovery, 
—  irreparable  wrong,  to  fulfil  his  promise  to  the 
letter,  when  he  cannot  to  the  spirit,  —  irreparable 
wrong,  to  stand  up  before  God  and  man,  and  sol- 
emnly promise  love  till  death,  knowing  that  at  the 
very  moment  the  life  of  love  is  gone.  Alas  !  you 
would  consign  her  to  a  fate  compared  to  which  the 
prospect  of  death  is  but  a  pleasing  hope,  —  to  the 
cheerless,  dreary,  desolate  doom  of  an  unloved 
and  unloving  wife.  He  is  not  to  be  blamed.  The 
fault,  if  fault  there  be,  is  hers,  not  his.  She  knew 
that  he  was  devoting  himself  to  study,  and  rising 
above  his  former  rank,  and  she  might  have  done 
the  same.  The  way  was  open  to  her,  as  to  him. 
But  she  preferred  to  go  to  huskings  and  quiltings, 


MEN  AND  WOMEN.  133 

to  take  care  of  the  children,  and  do  the  dairy 
work  ;  —  all  very  well,  and  quite  proper,  only  she 
must  abide  by  the  consequences. 

But,  in  fact,  what  harm  is  done  ?  Her  happi- 
ness Is  not  destroyed.  This  little  incident  is  but 
a  pebble  against  the  tide.  In  a  year's  time,  the 
rosy  cheeks,  the  muscular  arm,  the  lithe  figure, 
and  the  strong,  elastic  spirit,  will  bless  the  heart 
and  cheer  the  home  of  some  thriving  young  farm- 
er; and  a  President  and  all  his  Cabinet  may  yet 
be  chosen  from  the  healthy,  ruddy  faces  that  will 
gather  every  morning  round  her  wholesome  and 
plentiful  table.  Spare  your  pity.  Of  this  happy 
home  she  will  be  the  centre  and  light  and  stay. 
In  this,  her  appropriate  position,  her  faculties  will 
be  brought  into  full  play,  her  abilities  shown  to 
the  best  advantage.  Her  many  and  active  duties 
will  develop  vigor  of  mind  and  of  body.  Keen 
intellects  and  iron  nerves,  for  many  generations, 
will  rise  up  and  call  her  blessed.  Joined  to  one 
whom  she  could  not  appreciate,  nor  by  whom  be 
appreciated,  —  placed  in  a  sphere  for  which  she 
was  unfitted,  and  which  she  could  not  adorn,  her 
joyous,  bounding,  buoyant  life  would  be  checked, 
and  the  poor  country  minister's  wife,  harassed, 
careworn,  pale,  and  meek,  would  go  no  pleasure 
tour  so  swiftly  as  her  own  pathway  to  the  tomb. 

I  am  aware  that  this  is  only  the  bright  side  of 
the  picture.  Every  woman  does  not  take  the 
matter  so  easily.     It   does   not   follow,  however, 


134  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

that  the  gentleman  is  any  more  at  fault,  or  that 
the  lady  is  any  more  aggrieved.  She  may  be 
only  less  sensible  and  humble.  Instead  of  doing 
with  all  her  mio;ht  whatsoever  her  hand  finds  to 
do,  the  rich  and.  petted  Ida,  after  parting  from 
her  equally  rich  and  petted  Mortimer,  grows  lan- 
guid and  languishing,  weeps  much,  seems  to  have 
lost  all  interest  in  affairs  of  the  world,  listens  at- 
tentively to  discourses  turning  upon  the  instability 
of  all  earthly  friendships,  but  turns  a  deaf  ear  to 
music,  except  of  the  H  Penseroso  key.  Doting 
friends  mourn  over  the  crushed  affections  and 
broken  heart  of  the  dear  girl. 

I  know  I  am  naturally  cruel.  Having  no  super- 
fluity of  heart  myself,  I  am  apt  to  make  too  little 
allowance  for  an  excess  of  it  in  others.  But, 
with  all  sincerity  and  kindness,  I  do  believe  that 
in  nine  cases  out  of  ten  it  is  the  pride  that  is 
mortified,  rather  than  the  heart  that  is  broken. 
Ida  knows  that,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  she 
has  been  weighed  in  the  balance,  and  found  want- 
ing. There  may  be  no  real  justice  in  her  feeling 
so.  She  may  be  vastly  superior  to  her  lover. 
Women  generally  are.  But  however  that  may 
be,  she  knows  that  she  stands  before  the  world 
as  one  who  has  given  her  all,  and  the  gift  has 
been  rejected.     Barkis  is  not  willin'. 

Now  if  scorn  and  disdain  were  her  style,  you 
would  hear  nothing  of  sighing  and  meanings  ;  but 
she  is  not  of  that  calibre,  so  she  becomes  gentle, 


MEN  AND   WOMEN.  135 

pensive,  and  interesting.  I  do  not  blame  her  for 
her  sorrow.  I  do,  indeed,  think  it  would  be  better 
for  her  to  consider  that  the  man  who,,  after  six 
months  or  a  year  of  acquaintance,  is  not  profoundly 
impressed  with  a  sense  of  her  superiority,  cannot 
be  a  man  whose  name  she  will  be  honored  in  as- 
suming, and  his  memory,  therefore,  is  unworthy 
a  regret.  Still,  if  she  choose  to  look  at  it  objec- 
tively rather  than  subjectively,  from  the  world's 
point  of  view  rather  than  her  own,  very  well.  I 
only  insist  that  she  shall  not  insist  upon  our  taking 
her  wounded  self-love  for  a  broken  heart,  —  her 
disappointment  in  not  becoming  the  jewelled  mis- 
tress of  a  brown-stone  palace,  an  army  of  negro 
servants,  and  a  coach  and  six,  for  the  agony  of 
misplaced  affections.  For  look  you.  Ida's  anxious 
parents,  in  view  of  her  faltering  tread  and  droop- 
ing form,  call  a  family  council.  The  decree  goes 
forth  that  she  must  travel,  and  anon  they  bear 
her  hither  and  thither ;  dip  her  in  the  surf  at 
Newport ;  nauseate  her  with  the  waters  at  Sara- 
toga ;  deafen  her  with  the  roar  of  Niagara ;  ener- 
vate her  with  the  volupt^ious  airs  of  the  South ; 
tone  her  up  with  the  breezes  of  the  Alleghanies. 
After  undergoing  these  sundry  processes  of  resus- 
citation, the  whole  business  is  "  done  up "  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye,  by  the  sudden  entrance  upon 
the  stage  of  a  rich,  handsome,  mustachioed  cava- 
lier, who  is  smitten  by  the  "  most  musical,  most 
melancholy  charms  "  of  the  fair  sufferer,  and  not 


136  COUNTRY  LIVING.  ' 

disenchanted  by  the  excellent  name  that  papa 
bears  on  Wall  Street.  Mirth  and  gayety  are  re- 
instated, ,a  bridal  veil  closes  the  scene,  and  the 
cracked  heart  is  just  as  good  as  new. 

You  see  I  have  little  faith  in  dying  for  love.  I 
have,  however,  great  faith  in  moping  one's  self  to 
death  out  of  spite,  or  stubbornness,  or  false  shame. 
If  I  am  wrong,  I  am  sorry  —  or  glad ;  perhaps  I 
ought  to  be  glad.  At  any  rate,  I  am  in  just  that 
state  of  mind  in  which  I  ought  to  be  under  the 
circumstances.  If  I  have  injured  any  one's  feel- 
ings by  my  unbelief,  I  most  humbly  beg  pardon. 
I  dare  say  I  shall  die  of  unrequited  love  myself 
some  day.  It  would  be  no  more  than  strict  poetic 
justice.  "  Doubtless  God  might  have  made  a  bet- 
ter berry  than  a  strawberry,  but  doubtless  God 
never  did."  Doubtless  there  might  be  such  a 
thing  as  dying  for  love,  but  doubtless  there  never 
(or  seldom)  was.  In  point  of  fact,  there  is  not  a 
great  deal  of  marrying  for  love.  Not  that  I  sup- 
pose all  marriages  are  mercenary.  Far  from  it. 
But  people  marry  for  a  thousand  things,  —  money 
not  only,  but  a  home,  beauty,  genius,  because  oth- 
ers do,  because  it  is  respectable,  convenient,  &c. 
Some  of  these  motives  are  objectionable,  some  per- 
haps not.  When  a  poor  girl,  after  laying  the  worn- 
out  bodies  of  her  father  and  mother  in  the  grave, 
sees  no  prospect  before  her  but  unremitting  toil, 
loneliness,  poverty,  and  death  in  the  dreary  end, 
and  marries  the  kind  old  physician  who  has  tended 


MEN  AND   WOMEN.  137 

her  parents  without  prospect  of  reward ;  who  has 
been  the  witness  of  her  assiduity,  watchfulness, 
generosity,  good  cheerful  sense,  and  real  worth, 
and  feels  that  she  would  shed  upon  his  widowed 
hearth  something  of  the  light  of  other  days,  I  am 
far  from  blaming  her.  She  is  not  false  to  her 
noblest  nature,  although  perhaps,  in  the  dreams  of 
her  early  and  happy  girlhood,  his  was  not  the  arm 
she  looked  to  lean  on.  He  will  love  her  with  a 
fatherly  love  ;  she  will  return  it  with  grateful  affec- 
tion, and  therefore  her  walk  in  life  will  be  higher, 
her  ends  nobler,  her  benevolence  more  expansive, 
her  womanhood  better  developed.  Though  the 
ecstatic  glow  that  flushed  her  morning  sky,  when 

"  Life  went  a-Maying, 
With  Youth  and  Hope  and  Poesy," 

may  have  faded ;  yet  a  calm  serenity  —  "  the  sober 

certainty  of  home-felt  bliss  "  —  will  enwrap  her  in 

a  holy  atmosphere,  soft,  hazy,  and  warm-tinted,  as 

the  beautiful  Indian-summer. 

When  a  young  man  is  captivated  by  the  fall  of  a 

graceful  shoulder,  or  the  twirl  of  a  tiny  toe,  and  on 

the  strength  of  it  marches  straightway  to  church, 

and  there  promises  to  love  and  cherish,  I  shall  not 

forbid  the  banns : 

"  Honored  well  are  charms  to  sell, 
If  priests  the  selling  do  " ;  — 

or,  if  more  practical,  and  with  an  eye  to  the  wind- 
ward, he  notes  that  the  pretty  silk  is  not  new,  but 
simply  colored,  turned  upside  down^^vrgaag-gMe 


138  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

out,  with  new  fringe  and  trimmings,  and  new 
waist  and  sleeves,  and  bethinks  himself  how,  under 
such  management,  his  narrow  cottage  walls  would 
stretch  away  into  stately  halls,  —  if  he  can  secure 
the  fair  artisan  he  is  doubtless  lucky.  I  do  not 
object.  Their  talk  will  be  of  bread  and  butter, 
the  baby's  teething,  and  the  price  of  turnips ;  but 
let  them  marry.  I  do  say,  however,  —  and  am  I 
not  right  ?  —  this  is  not  that  resistless  tide,  which, 
gathering  to  itself  the  thousand  streams  that  ripple 
throiigli  the  quiet  meadows  of  life,  sweeps  suddenly 
over  the  heart,  bearing  down  all  the  old  landmarks 
of  pride  and  prejudice  ;  not  that  raging  and  quench- 
less fire  which  consumes  the  dross  of  selfishness, 
and  fuses  into  a  glowing  devotion  every  power, 
thought,  faculty,  and  purpose ;  (^  not  that  great, 
deep,  absorbing,  passionate,  deathless  love,  which, 
having  once  passed  into  a  soul,  can  go  no  more 
out  forever.    ; 

I  could  wish  that  women  were  happier.  This 
may  appear  a  needless  wish  to  those  who  look 
only  on  the  surface ;  but  below  the  smoothly- 
flowing  surface  there  is  an  undercurrent  which 
the  world  knoweth  not  of.  There  is  a  restless- 
ness, an  unuttered  discontent,  a  vague  longing, 
which  frets  and  wears  away  the  cheerfulness  and 
happiness  of  life,  particularly  in  the  young.  It  is 
involuntary,  unsought,  resisted,  but  all-powerful. 
Ah  !  the  capacity  for  suffering  that  there  is  in 
girls,  —  the    capacity,    too,   for    enjoying   and   for 


MEN  AND   WOMEN.  139 

acting.     It  is  weighed  and  measured  by  those  who 

are  armed  for  the  conflict,  girded  for  the  race, 

but  for  whom  no  conflict  and  no  race  ever  wait. 

It  is  the  slow  wasting  away  of  powers  that  have 

nothing  to  grasp ;  the  silent,  subtle  corrosion  of  a 

heart  turned  in  upon  itself.     O  girls,  everywhere 

waiting  and  watching  for  a  day  that  never  comes, 

I  have  seen  you.     I  know  you.     I  have  followed 

you  through  the  dreary  days  that  dragged  their 

slow  length  along.     I  know  how  the  tramp  of  the 

monotonous  years  seems  to  you  the  dead  march 

of  your   young   aspirations,  —  how    the   pulse  of 

your  heart  grows  fainter  and  fainter,  beneath  the 

swelhng  fountain  of  tears. 

"  My  heart,  and  hope,  and  prayers,  and  tears, 
Are  all  with  you,  are  all  with  you," 

and  therefore  I  have  a  right  to  bid  you  take  heart 
and  hope,  for  this  very  unrest  is  a  sign.  It  is 
the  beating  of  your  soul  against  its  prison-bars. 
It  is  a  token  from  above,  —  a  voice  from  the  un- 
seen world,  bidding  you  come  up  higher.  It  tells 
you  of  a  level  you  have  not  yet  reached  ;  of  ener- 
gies not  yet  developed  ;  of  a  life  not  yet  rounded 
off"  to  full  perfection.  Your  soul  is  unconsciously 
sending  out  feelers,  and  they  find  nothing  to  grasp. 
The  world  is  six  thousand  years  old,  but  it  has 
not  yet  learned  to  use  its  resources.  It  knows 
not  what  to  do  with  you,  and  you  know  not  what 
to  do  with  yourselves.  Your  pastors  and  teach- 
ers exhort  you  to  fear  God  and  keep  his  command- 


140  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

ments  ;  and  you  try  to  do  it.  But  that  does  not 
fill  the  void,  does  not  stop  the  aching,  nor  soothe 
the  unrest.  No,  and  it  never  will.  People  may 
talk  as  much  as  they  choose  about  the  power  of 
religion,  but  it  will  not  satisfy  your  hungry  heart, 
any  more  than  it  will  your  hungry  stomach.  God 
has  given  to  every  appetite  its  appropriate  food, 
to  every  emotion  its  corresponding  object.  He 
has  given  us  means  and  ends,  but  we  blindly  work 
at  cross-purposes,  and  take  wrong  means  for  right 
ones,  making  his  word  of  none  effect  by  our  tra- 
ditions. When  w^e  ask  him  for  bread,  he  gives  us 
bread  ;  his  children,  in  all  kindness,  but  ignorantly, 
give  us  oftentimes  a  stone.  Do  not  reproach  or 
think  meanly  of  yourselves  for  not  being  happy. 
If  you  were  absorbed  in  dress,  visiting,  pleasure- 
seeking,  you  would  have  no  discontent ;  but  would 
it  be  better  so  ?  If  you  were  identified  with  any 
great  work,  anything  which  could  enlist  your 
whole  being,  you  feel  that  it  would  be  different ; 
but  women  seldom  have  a  great  work  to  do.  Their 
work  is  great  only  in  its  results,  in  the  spirit  with 
wdiich  it  is  done.  It  is  a  vast  conglomeration  of 
little  things.  You  are  where  God  has  placed  you, 
or  suffered  you  to  be  placed,  and  for  our  purposes 
now  it  is  all  the  same.  If,  in  truth  as  in  poetry, 
love  could  take  up  the  harp  of  life,  and  smite 
on  all  the  chords  with  might,  then  this  chord  of 
self  would,  trembling,  pass  in  music  out  of  sight, 
and  this  would  be  better.     This  self-abnegation  is 


MEN  AND   WOMEN.  141 

perhaps  indispensable  to  womanly  completeness. 
Until  this  chord  has  been  touched,  there  is  no 
diapason.  The  depths  of  the  soul  are  unstirred. 
There  is  a  power  lying  waste,  a  fountain  sealed. 
No  character  can  be  perfect  which  is  not  symmet- 
rical. You  may,  you  ought  to  love  Christ  with 
an  overmastering  love,  but  the  two  are  entirely 
distinct.  One  cannot  take  the  place  of  the  other. 
Every  earthly  affection  should  indeed  be  baptized 
in  the  heavenly,  —  but  only  baptized,  not  trans- 
muted. I  do  not  think  God  ever  intended  it 
should  be. 

Have  I  found  you  a  remedy  ?  No,  certainly. 
I  have  only  pointed  out  what  would  be  a  remedy 
if  found,  but  no  searching  will  ever  bring  it.  It 
comes  unsought,  if  it  comes  at  all.  What  good 
have  I  done  you,  then  ?  None  at  all  so  far ;  but 
here  is  the  point  where  I  wish  to  utter  a  note  of 
warning.  Here  is  where  you  are  in  danger  of 
mistakins:  the  seeming;  for  the  real.  Faint  and 
famishing,  you  will  eagerly  pluck  the  fair-looking 
apple,  and  it  will  turn  to  dust  and  ashes  in  your 
mouth.  You  would  better  have  died  of  starvation. 
Because  God  has  made  you  so  that  love  is  your 
life  and  breath,  and  you  pant  and  gasp  without  it, 
you  are  not  to  inhale  a  foul  malaria,  under  the 
mistaken  impression  that  it  is  mountain  air.  If 
it  be  pure,  the  more  you  breathe  of  it  the  better, 
only  be  sure  it  is  pure.  Therefore  do  not  love 
indiscriminately.     An  over-ripe  apple  falls  at  the 


142  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

first  gwst,  whether  into  hly-white  hands  or  on  the 
unheeding  ground.  Do  not  you  so  ;  nor  be  con- 
tent with  a  slight  preference,  —  a  pale,  nerveless, 
flickering,  uncertain  emotion,  that  brings  as  many 
misgivings  as  heart-throbs.  I  have  heard  of  girls 
pausing  on  the  threshold  of  an  engagement,  "  at 
a  stand  to  know  what  to  do  "  !  Never  allow  your- 
self to  be  in  such  a  position.  If  you  don't  know 
what  to  do,  it  is  the  very  strongest  of  all  provi- 
dential indications  that  you  are  to  do  nothing. 
By  all  means,  give  yourself  the  benefit  of  the 
doubt.  "  Friendship  with  all,  entangling  alliances 
with  none,"  is  a  good  motto  for  women  as  well 
as  for  nations.  Faithfully  adhered  to,  it  will  keep 
you  free  from  those  little  attachments  which  in- 
sensibly but  surely  fritter  away  your  power  to  form 
a  lasting  and  noble  one ;  while  it  will  no  more 
prevent  your  soul  from  going  out  to  meet  its  lord 
and  king,  when  his  trumpet  sounds,  than  the 
seven  green  withes  had  power  to  restrain  the  He- 
brew athlete  when  his  spirit  returned  to  him,  after 
its  ignoble  sleep  on  a  treacherous  bosom. 

Do  not  affect  a  motive  in  love.  It  is  not  a 
question  of  motive,  but  of  fact.  I  have  no  faith 
in  marrying  to  do  good.  The  end  does  not  sanctify 
the  means.  If  you  do  all  the  good  you  can  with 
your  own  individuality,  I  do  not  believe  God  will 
hold  you  responsible  for  anything  more.  Nor,  in 
my  opinion,  does  the  respectability  of  the  sinner 
diminish  the  enormity  of  the  sin.     I  have  known 


MEN  AND    WOMEN.  143 

missionaries,  excellent  men,  bury  their  poor  wives 
in  Hindoo  jungles,  and  return  to  America  to  re- 
place them,  just  as  madam  sends  for  a  China  tea- 
cup to  replace  the  one  broken  by  a  careless  ser- 
vant. Men  and  women  combine  with  Nature  to 
abhor  a  vacuum,  and  the  missionary's  loss  is  often 
far  more  easily  made  up  than  madam  the  house- 
keeper's. Mysterious  wheels,  wires,  and  pulleys 
are  set  in  motion  by  a  clique  of  mothers  in  Israel 
behind  the  scenes,  the  result  of  which  is,  that  some 
unoffending,  benevolent,  and  practical  Miss  Brown 
finds  herself  suddenly  precipitated,  nolens  volens, 
(generally  volens,')  into  the  arms  of  the  good  mis- 
sionary ;  —  he  congratulating  himself  on  the  suc- 
cess of  his  business  transaction  ;  she  consoling  her- 
self that  she  has  gained  an  excellent  husband,  and 
done  God  service,  thereby  killing  two  birds  with 
one  stone  ;  and  the  mothers  aforesaid  rejoicing  in 
their  skilful  matrimonial  diplomacy.  Now  I  affirm 
that  it  is  miserable  business  the  whole  of  it.  It 
may  be  good  manoeuvring,  where  all  manoeuvring 
is  out  of  place.  It  is  an  unholy  traffic,  though  all 
the  traffickers  be  members  of  an  orthodox  church 
in  good  and  regular  standing.  It  is  transferring 
to  the  head  what  comes  under  the  jurisdiction  of 
the  heart.  The  parties  concerned  may  "  live  hap- 
pily ever  after,"  but  they  have  no  right  to  expect 
it.  Of  course,  if  a  woman  marries  a  missionary 
because  she  loves  him,  even  though  her  love  sprang 
up  on  his  first  Transatlantic  appearance  as  a  wid- 


144  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

ower,  and  goes  to  Boorioboola  Gha  with  him,  be- 
cause she  would  rather  do  it  than  stay  at  home 
without  him,  there  is  not  the  shghtest  objection; 
she  is  quite  right ;  only  let  her  say  so  honestly, 
if  she  feel  called  upon  to  say  anything.  But  when 
she  explains  her  marriage  by  enlarging  on  her 
sense  of  duty,  the  poor  little  children  who  stand 
in  such  pressing  need  of  a  mother's  care,  the 
heathen  who  are  perishing  for  lack  of  knowledge, 
wdiy  then,  I  say,  if  these  really  are  her  motives, 
she  is  wrong,  — just  as  truly,  though  not  perhaps 
as  greatly,  wrong  as  she  who  follows  the  glitter 
of  gold.  Let  her  take  a  lesson  from  Jane  Eyre 
and  St.  John,  since  she  has  failed  to  learn  it  from 
her  Bible.  If  the  claims  of  the  heathen  urge  her 
so  irresistibly,  let  her  go  to  them  untrammelled. 
The  cause  of  God  is  not  so  desperate  that  it  needs 
to  be  proj^ped  up  by  a  falsehood. 

Nor  do  I  believe  in  marrying  because,  as  I  have 
frequently  heard  alleged,  a  woman's  nature  is  such 
that  she  "  must  love  somebody."  In  the  first 
place,  the  implied  fact  is  a  convenient  little  fiction. 
There  is  no  sort  of  necessity  for  your  "  loving 
somebody."  It  may  be  very  pleasant  to  do  so  ; 
it  may  be  very  distressing  not  to  do  so  ;  but  it 
is  not  immediately  fatal.  Even  if  it  were,  never 
mind.  Kemember  Pompey's  sublime  words,  "  It 
is  necessary  for  me  to  go ;  it  is  not  necessary 
for  me  to  live."  Death  comes  to  all,  and  the 
world  does  not  need  your  bodily  presence  so  much 


MEN  AND    WOMEN.  145 

as  it  needs  your  moral  heroism.  If  you  die  rather 
than  live  falsely,  you  will  enrich  it  by  one  great 
example.  Moreover,  granting  that  you  "  must 
love  somebody,"  does  it  inevitably  follow  that  you 
**  must  love  "  a  grown  man  in  possession  of  a  re- 
spectable yearly  income  ?  Look  abroad  at  the  or- 
phans, thousands  upon  thousands,  fatherless,  moth- 
erless, to  whom  your  love  would  be  as  the  dew 
of  Hermon.  Christ's  little  ones  are  all  around 
you,  —  the  ignorant,  the  uncared-for,  the  outcast. 
Lavish  on  them  your  irrepressible  affection.  The 
sunshine  of  love  might  melt  the  ice  in  which  their 
better  nature  is  incrusted,  and  warm  into  healthy, 
vigorous  growth  the  wasting  germ  of  many  a  virtue. 
The  idea,  girls,  the  idea  of  sacrificing  your  whole 
life  to  a  so-so  sort  of  person,  for  the  sake  of  hav- 
ing "  somebody  to  love,"  in  a  world  so  full  of 
children  that  the  most  excruciating  hand-organ 
will  in  two  minutes  block  up  the  sidewalk  in  any 
portion  of  any  city  with  admiring  throngs  of  white- 
headed  urchins  ! 

To  marry  for  a  home  or  for  happiness  is  little 
better.  A  home  purchased  by  the  sale  of  your- 
self is  a  dear  bargain,  and  happiness  is  the  most 
uncertain  shadow  you  can  pursue.  It  is  inciden- 
tal. It  comes  upon  us  unexpectedly  ;  but  if  we 
set  out  determinately  and  definitely  in  pursuit  of  it, 
it  generally  leads  us  into  bogs  and  quagmires, 
and  leaves  us  there. 

If,  instead  of  promising  to  love  and  honor  in 


146  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

the  future,  custom  enjoined  a  woman,  on  her  mar- 
riage-day, solemnly  to  aver  that  she  did  at  that 
moment  love  and  honor,  I  verily  believe  there 
would  be  fewer  mock  unions.  I  think  it  would 
be  safer  to  let  the  future  build  itself,  taking  care 
to  secure  in  the  present  a  firm  foundation,  than 
to  take  the  foundation  for  granted,  and  proceed 
prematurely  to  the  superstructure.  Many  women, 
conscientious,  but  vague,  unaccustomed  to  make 
distinctions,  to  know  clearly  the  difference  between 
one  thing  and  another,  after  long  hesitating  and 
vacillating,  do  finally  zigzag  their  way  to  church, 
and  make  the  most  tremendous  promises,  with  a 
misty  kind  of  belief  that  they  shall  be  able  to 
keep  them  when  the  indefinitely  distant  trial 
comes,  —  who,  if  the  plain  question  were  put  to 
them  point-blank,  "  Do  you  now  love  and  honor 
this  man  ?  "  could  not  find  it  in  their  hearts,  and 
therefore  not  in  their  consciences,  to  say  "  Yes," 
and  would  thereby  be  saved  from  a  lifetime  of 
suff*ering,  perhaps  of  sin.  Yet,  I  have  heard  a 
Christian  woman  seriously  advise  her  young  friend 
to  accept  a  marriage  proposal,  because  she  "  would 
not  he  likely  to  do  better.  A  superior  woman  must 
not  expect  to  marry  her  superior.''^  I  have  known 
a  gentleman  write,  "  I  advise  you,  if  an  intelligent, 
truly  Christian  man,  who  really  loves  you,  wants 
you  to  marry  him,  to  do  so."  And  a  highly  moral 
and  religious  community  does  not  cease  to  warn 
contumacious   maidens   of  the   danger  of  "  going 


MEN  AND   WOMEN  147 

througli  the  woods,  and  picking  up  a  crooked 
stick  at  last." 

There  certainly  are  occasions  on  which,  if  you 
cannot  do  as  you  would,  it  is  quite  proper  to  do 
as  you  can.  Nothing  can  equal  a  good  sweet- 
potato,  yet  you  would  be  very  foolish  to  throw 
away  mashed  Irish  ones,  because  the  frost  has 
destroyed  the  more  saccharine  tuber.  In  default 
of  mashed  Irish,  roasted  w^ll  have  no  mean  flavor. 
If  the  potato  crop  fails,  "  Boston  brown  bread," 
fresh  from  the  oven,  will  enable  you  to  bear  the 
loss  WMth  philosophical  resignation,  and  even  boiled 
rice,  the  most  unpretending  of  all  edibles,  is  better 
than  starvation.  But  a  husband  is  not  a  potato, 
and  if  you  select  him  on  the  same  principle,  be  not 
surprised  if  you  find  him  extremely  indigestible. 

" as  the  dove,  to  far  Palmyra  flying, 

From  where  her  native  founts  of  Antioch  beam, 
Weary,  exhausted,  longing,  panting,  sighing, 
Lights  sadly  at  the  desert's  bitter  stream  " ; 

(Perfectly  right  in  the  dove.) 

"  So  many  a  soul,  o'er  life's  drear  desert  faring,  — 

Love's  pure,  congenial  spring  unfound,  unquaflfed,  — 
Suffei's,  recoils,  then,  thirsty  and  despairing 
Of  what  it  would,  descends,  and  sips  the  nearest  draught," 

and  is  refreshed  and  strengthened,  just  as  the  ship- 
wrecked sailor  is  refreshed  by  the  mocking  salt 
sea-water,  which  he  bears  in  frenzy  to  his  fever- 
parched  lips. 

Do  you  now,  seeing  that  I  have  dealt  chiefly 


148  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

in  negatives,  ask  me  what  shall  be  the  token  ? 
My  dear  child,  how  can  I  tell  ?  By  just  as  many 
girl's  hearts  as  are  throbbing  this  wide  world  over 
by  just  so  many  ways  will  love  enter  in  and  take 
possession.  Keep  your  eye  single  and  your  heart 
pure,  and  you  will  not  fail  to  recognize  the  heav- 
enly visitant.  The  molecule  of  oxygen  roams 
lonely  through  the  vast  universe,  yearning  for  its 
mate,  and  finding  no  rest,  till  of  a  sudden  it  meets 
the  molecule  of  hydrogen  in  a  quiet  nook,  when 
lo !  a  rush,  an  embrace,  and  there  is  no  more 
either  oxygen  or  hydrogen,  but  a  diamond  drop 
of  dew  sparkling  on  the  white  bosom  of  the  lily. 
So,  I  suppose,  will  it  be  with  you,  when  you  meet 
your  destiny.  A  flash,  and  it  is  all  over.  Your 
heart  is  gone,  your  power  is  gone  ;  power  over 
your  blood,  that  plays  mad  pranks  in  your  cheeks, 
—  over  your  thoughts,  that  hover  continually  about 
one  spot,  —  over  your  memories  that  wake  to  music 
only  one  string, —  over  yourself  henceforth  forever- 
more,  to  be  held  in  solution  by  a  stronger  nature 
than  your  own.  Unless  your  love  comes  upon 
you  thus,  like  a  strong  man  armed,  do  not  believe 
in  it.  If  you,  in  cold  blood,  give  up  your  name, 
your  independence,  your  individuality,  for  a  con- 
sideration, whatever  that  consideration  be,  you 
will  be  a  wife  only  in  name.  Priestly  blessing 
cannot  sanctify  unholy  contract.  If  you  have 
parted  with  your  birthright,  what  matter  whether 
it  was  for  a  mess  of  pottage  or  a  stalled  ox  ? 


MEN  AND   WOMEN,  149 

I  know,  therefore,  of  no  reason  why  a  woman 
should  marry,  except  because  she  cannot  help  it,  — 
because  "  the  spirit  of  life  which  dwelleth  in  the 
most  secret  chambers  of  the  soul,  all  trembling, 
speaks  these  words  :  '  Behold  a  god  more  powerful 
than  I.'  " 

If  your  love  raises  and  exalts  you,  if  it  helps 
you  on  your  heavenward  way,  if  it  brings  you 
nearer  to  God,  if  it  strengthens  you  to  brave 
endurance,  stimulates  you  to  heroic  action,  and 
makes  all  greatness  possible ;  if,  in  one  word,  it 
possesses  itself  of  you,  and  sweeps  you  up  and  out 
from  the  finite  to  the  infinite,  as  a  wave  bears 
seaward  the  strong  swimmer,  powerless,  —  you  are 
safe. 

If  anything  less  than  this  satisfies  you,  if  you 
content  yourself  with  a  feeble,  sickly  sentiment, 
that  wilts  in  the  sun  and  breaks'  in  the  storm, 
your  soul  will  surely  suffer.  An  inferior  nature 
may  waken  feeling  enough  to  blind  you  for  a  little 
while.  The  cares  and  pleasures  of  a  busy  life  may 
twine  their  rank  growth  so  closely  as  to  hide  from 
you  for  a  season  the  real  barrenness  of  the  soil 
beneath.  But  from  the  one,  twenty,  forty  years 
that  lie  before  you,  shall  be  born  a  day  on  which 
you  will  awake  to  know  that  you  cannot  give 
without  receiving  back  full  measure,  life  for  life. 
And  when  your  dream  is  dreamed  out,  you  will 
exclaim,  more  bitterly  than  the  old  dame  of  the 
ballad,  — 


150  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

"  Yesterday  I  was  the  Lady  of  Linn, 
And  now  I'm  but  John  o'  the  Scales'  wife." 

Your  demon  of  discontent,  cast  out  for  a  while, 
will  return,  with  seven  other  spirits  more  wicked 
than  himself,  and  your  last  state  shall  be  worse 
than  your  first. 

Better,  a  thousand  times  better,  go  wandering 
all  your  life,  than  bring  your  household  gods  under 
an  unworthy  roof-tree. 

There  is,  then,  a  way  that  seemeth  good,  but 
the  end  thereof  are  the  ways  of  death.  With  this 
you  luive  nothing  to  do. 

But  settle  the  point  clearly.  Know  just  where 
you  stand.  Have  the  boundary-lines  accurately 
defined.  Be  able  to  give  a  reason  for  the  hope 
and  faith  that  are  in  you.  Missing  the  crowning 
glory  of  worpanhood,  do  not  childishly  depreciate 
it.  Do  not  try  to  persuade  yourself  or  others  that 
you  are  at  the  utmost  bound  of  the  everlasting 
hills,  quite  in  the  promised  land,  when  in  fact  you 
only  see  it  through  a  glass  darkly.  Meet  the  fact 
boldly.  Courage  does  not  consist  in  feeling  no 
fear,  but  in  conquering  fear.  There  is  no  heroism 
in  marching  blindfold  through  a  thousand  dangers. 
He  is  the  hero  who,  seeing  the  lions  on  either 
side,  goes  straight  on,  because  there  his  duty  lies. 
Acknowledge  to  yourself,  "  I  am  not  happy.  I 
do  not  like  my  life.  I  must  be  capable  of  better 
things.  I  am  uneasy,  restless,  discontented." 
Then,    knowing   exactly   the    state  of  your   case, 


MEN  AND  WOMEN  151 

apply  to  yourself  comfort  and  healing.  Remem- 
ber first  that  God  reigns.  Infinite  power  is  wield- 
ed by  infinite  love.  The  fatherly  eye  that  sees 
the  sparrows  as  they  fall,  will  not  let  you  walk 
in  a  random  path.  Life  is  a  chain  of  sequences. 
From  the  cradle  to  the  grave  —  ay !  and  beyond 
it  —  stretch  the  series  of  cause  and  effect ;  and 
what  thou  knowest  not  now,  thou  shalt  know 
hereafter. 

You  are  in  a  school  carefully  graded.  When 
you  have  passed  your  examination  satisfactorily, 
you  will  be  promoted.  Just  as  soon  as  you  have 
got  all  the  discipline  which  your  present  circum- 
stances have  for  you,  you  will  be  surrounded  by 
new.  Just  as  soon  as  you  are  fitted  for  a  higher 
career,  the  gates  will  be  flung  wide  open  to  you. 
You  can  know  exactly  what  is  best  for  you  only  by 
observing  what  is.  You  think  you  could  do  some- 
thing better,  something  greater.  Do  you  perfectly 
accomplish  everything  that  you  undertake  ?  Until 
you  perform  in  the  best  possible  manner  every- 
thing which  it  is  at  present  your  duty  to  do,  you 
have  no  right  to  complain  of  your  contracted  sphere. 
Why  reach  out  among  the  stars  for  a  treasure 
that  lies  at  your  feet  ?  Be  faithful  over  a  few 
things,  before  you  repine  at  not  being  made  ruler 
over  many  things.  You  may  talk  of  opposing 
friends,  unfavoring  circumstances,  adverse  fate ; 
but  circumstances  are  full  of  Divinity,  planning 
and  directing.     We  are  not  the  children  of  Fate, 


152  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

but  the  children  of  our  Father"  in  Heaven  ;  and 
when  the  Heaven-appointed  hour  is  come,  fate, 
friend,  and  circumstance  v^all  swell  the  tide  that 
shall  bear  us  out  triumphantly  to  the  bOsom  of  the 
boundless  sea. 

Another  thing  remember.  Threescore  years 
and  ten  are  not  the  whole  of  life.  We  say  that 
we  know  it,  but  we  act  as  if  we  knew  it  not. 
With  our  lips  we  affirm  ;  but  with  our  lives  we 
deny.  Blind  and  eager,  we  grasp  for  all  our  good 
things  now.  We  weep  and  moan  and  faint,  be- 
cause for  a  moment  we  are  hungry  and  thirsty. 
We  forget  that  God  has  not  put  us  in  this  world 
to  be  happy,  but  to  be  trained.  It  is  true  that 
there  is  a  great  deal  of  happiness  thrown  in  ;  and 
we  find  it  so  delightful,  that  we  are  apt  to  sub- 
stitute it  for  the  real  end  of  life,  and  mourn  that 
we  cannot  accomplish  it ;  which  is  as  if  children, 
having  feasted  on  their  Christmas  candy,  should 
cry  to  be  fed  on  it  all  the  year  round.  Life  is 
one  combined  and  continuous  process  and  proof. 
Kiches,  poverty,  happiness,  misery,  education,  ig- 
norance, are  so  many  chisels  to  form  and  touch- 
stones to  try  our  characters.  One  substance  stands 
fire,  another  water.  If  you  reverse  the  trial,  it 
is  fruitless.  One  soul  must  be  purified  by  pros- 
perity, another  by  adversity;  one  in  society,  an- 
other in  solitude.  Who  dare  be  so  presumptuous 
as  to  say,  "  This  is  not  the  right  kind  of  test  for 
me.      My   character   would   be   better   developed 


MEN  AND   WOMEN  153 

and  ascertained  in  such  and  such  circumstances." 
"  Shall  not  the  Judge  of  all  the  earth  do  right  ?  " 
You  pant  for  activity  and  exertion.  You  are  in- 
genious, constructive,  fertile  in  devices,  skilful  In 
combination,  rapid  in  execution.  You  want  a 
subject,  a  field,  a  career.  Very  well.  Find  one 
or  make  one,  if  you  can.  Exert  yourself  to  the 
utmost.  Move  heaven  and  earth ;  but,  having 
done  all  without  success,  decide  conclusively  that 
your  lesson  is  to  be  learned  In  another  school, 
and  reflect  peacefully  that  "  they  also  serve  who 
only  stand  and  wait."  Bring  this  principle  in 
prematurely,  and  you  will  be  an  indolent,  Ineffi- 
cient cumberer  of  the  ground.  Leave  it  out  of 
view  entirely,  and  you  will  be  a  pricking,  irri- 
tating thorn  in  all  sensible  and  sensitive  flesh. 
Apply  it  just  at  the  right  time,  and  the  world 
will  be  better  for  your  having  lived  In  It. 

As  for  a  little  happiness,  more  or  less,  never 
mind  it.  Be  content  to  put  it  off".  When  the 
Sheklnah  dwelt  in  the  Holy  of  Holies,  did  the 
high-priest  note  In  passing  that  the  porch  of  the 
temple  was  shrouded  In  twilight?  Believe  what 
you  say  you  believe,  that  there  is  a  life  beyond 
death.  Weeping  may  endure  for  a  night,  but  joy 
Cometh  in  the  morning.  It  is  only  for  a  little 
while.  Can  you  not  for  a  little  while  be  brave  to 
bear  and  to  do  ?  The  fulness  of  joy,  the  perfec- 
tion of  being,  belong  to  another  world.  The  secret 
of  contentment  is  not  the  gratification  nor  the  cru- 
7* 


154  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

cifixion  of  every  right  desire,  but  faith  in  their  ulti- 
mate fulfilment. 

"  He  who  sees  the  future  sure, 
The  baffling  present  may  endure." 

If  God  has  happiness  in  store  for  you  here,  it  will 
surely  come ;  you  need  not  stir  to  find  it.  If  he 
has  not,  all  effort  is  vain ;  no  movement  of  yours 
will  bring  it.     Therefore  be  calm. 

Now,  if  you  suppose  that  I  wish  to  sublimate 
you  into  an  airy  nothing,  —  a  cross  between  the 
patient  Griselda  and  a  Romish  saint,  I  have  only 
to  inform  you  that  you  are  entirely  mistaken. 
Thougii  I  would  have  you  depend  chiefly  for  your 
happiness  on  the  next  world,  I  would  also  have 
you,  by  all  means,  make  the  most  of  this.  It  is 
very  certain  that  there  is  a  heaven,  but  earth  is 
also  a  fixed  fact.  It  may  be  very  pleasant  to  die, 
but  for  the  present  your  especial  business  is  to  live  ; 
and  if  you  can't  be  as  happy  as  you  would  like  to 
be,  be  as  happy  as  you  can.  Because  you  can't 
get  what  you  want,  don't  throw  away  what  you 
can  get.  Squeeze  out  of  the  world  all  the  juice 
there  is  in  it.  It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  you 
must  be  either  at  the  brow  or  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill.  There  are  many  steps  between,  some  of 
which  command  a  charming  view,  and  all  a  new 
horizon.  Because  you  are  not  particularly  happy, 
don't  condemn  yourself  to  particular  misery.  It 
is  possible  to  sleep  soundly,  eat  heartily,  and  be 
on  the  whole  very  comfortable,  without  being  in 


MEN  AND   WOMEN.  155 

a  rapturous  frame  of  mind.  Only,  when  you  are 
simply  comfortable,  don't  pretend  that  you  are  tre- 
mendously happy.  There  is  nothing  to  be  gained 
by  the  deception  ;  and  if  there  were  anything,  you 
don't  want  to  gain  it.  Do  with  your  might  what- 
soever your  hand  finds  to  do.  Sympathize  largely. 
Don't  merely  try  to  feel,  but  feel.  Associate  with 
children,  not  to  harass  them  by  continually  setting 
them  right,  —  which  is  of  no  use,  since  they  will 
inevitably  and  immediately  fall  back  into  their 
original  sin,  —  but  make  yourself  one  with  them. 
Nothing  pays  so  well.  I  think  it  is  the  easiest  of 
all  ways  to  amuse  yourself  and  benefit  others.  But 
don't  confine  yourself  to  any  one  class.  When- 
ever anybody's  orbit  intersects  yours,  make  some- 
thing come  of  it.  Sink  a  shaft  wherever  there  is 
the  least  probability  of  water.  Find  out  the  secret 
place  where  abideth  the  soul  of  your  Irish  "  girl." 
See  if  there  may  not  be  something  in  common  be- 
tween you  and  your  washerwoman,  your  seam- 
stress, your  chambermaid,  your  cook.  If  there  is 
a  single  plank  in  their  platform  on  which  you  can 
stand,  join  hands  thereon,  and  give  one  throb  to 
the  heart  of  humanity.  Do  not  wait  supinely  for 
opportunity,  but  go  out  and  seek  her  in  the  high- 
ways and  hedges.  Be  alive  at  every  pore.  Make 
your  soul  great  with  unceasing  benevolence.  Make 
common  cause  with  virtue  against  temptation,  with 
goodness  against  wickedness,  with  right  against 
might.     If  truth  is  solvent  in  falsehood,  precipitate 


156  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

the  truth,  and  cast  out  the  false.  Do  not  be  intimi- 
dated because  human  nature  is  not  every  inch  a 
saint,  nor  cajoled  because  it  is  not  every  inch  a 
satan.  This  great  world  is  a  powerful  diluent. 
Accustom  yourself  to  analyze,  and,  having  decided 
deliberately,  maintain  stoutly.  However  weak, 
unpopular,  or  ridiculed  the  just  cause  may  be,  let 
it  find  in  you  an  unflinching  and  impartial  sup- 
porter; —  impartial,  for  women  are  too  apt,  having 
once  espoused  a  cause,  to  cling  to  it  "  with  woman's 
devotion,"  right  or  wrong ;  or,  having  rejected  it, 
to  fancy  no  good  thing  can  come  therefrom.  If 
you  approve  one  thing  and  condemn  another,  both 
of  which  Mrs.  Grundy  alike  condemns,  don't  ab- 
stain from  saying  so  for  fear  of  being  called  incon- 
sistent. If  to-day  you  approve  any  measure  which 
yesterday  you  condemned,  don't  be  afraid  to  say 
so  for  fear  of  being  deemed  fickle.  Is  it  not  Rus- 
kin  who  says  that  he  has  little  faith  in  an  opinion 
till  he  has  changed  it  three  times?  Pope  asks 
what  changing  the  mind  is,  but  saying  we  are 
wiser  to-day  than  we  were  yesterday.  And  Rus- 
kin  again  bids  us  say  what  we  think  to-day  in 
words  as  hard  as  cannon-balls,  and  say  what  we 
think  to-morrow  in  words  just  as  hard,  no  matter 
if  one  assertion  flatly  contradict  the  other.  Con- 
sistency is  the  bugbear  of  small,  inactive  minds. 
A  living  soul,  grappling  with  the  great  truths  of 
the  present,  has  no  leisure  to  go  digging  among 
last  year's  ruins  to  see  whether  the  two  sets  dove- 


MEN  AND  WOMEN.  157 

tail  exactly.  Let  bygones  be  bygones.  Let  the 
dead  past  bury  its  dead.  A  sincere  and  honest 
life  will  arrange  itself.  All  opinions  and  beliefs, 
intelligently  and  conscientiously  adopted,  will  group 
themselves  into  a  beautiful  mosaic,  which  you  can- 
not now  see  because  you  are  too  near,  and  must 
behold  one  at  a  time ;  but  when  a  stand-point  in 
the  other  world  gives  you  the  proper  focal  distance, 
you  will  behold,  with  wonder  and  admiration,  how 
the  most  diverse  and  the  most  similar  were  ahke 
necessary  to  form  a  perfect  and  artistic  whole. 

There  are  sorrows  that  spring  from  other  sources, 
—  hope  deferred,  love  wasted,  expectation  disap- 
pointed, ambition  crushed,  —  noiseless  grief  that 
saps  the  foundation,  eats  into  the  very  penetralia 
of  life,  of  which  the  whited  walls  without  give  no 
sign,  though  Death  riot  within,  —  anguish  that 
sweeps  over  the  soul  like  the  desert  Simoom,  blast- 
ing every  green  thing,  drinking  up  every  fresh 
fountain,  leaving  in  its  wake  only  blackness  and 
blankness,  —  troubles  that  come  naturally,  and 
troubles  that  seem  to  have  been  wrenched  from 
their  places  to  assail  some  doomed  life,  —  troubles 
that  no  wisdom  could  have  averted,  and  troubles 
wantonly  and  wickedly  self-inflicted,  yet  all  alike 
sore  evils,  and  of  long  continuance.  There  is  in 
woman  a  power  of  acute  suffering,  from  causes 
which  scarcely  affect  the  sterner  nature  of  man. 
Repulsive  but  merciful  necessity  bears  down  upon 
his   sorrow,    smothering   it   with    rude,    relentless 


158  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

hand,  indeed,  but  smothering  it.  Her  quieter, 
more  monotonous  life  fans  the  flames,  but  gently, 
so  that  though  the  bush  is  burning  a  long  time, 
yet  is  it  not  consumed.  There  are  many,  I  see 
them  every  day,  whose  garden  of  lilies  and  roses 
is  become  a  howling  wilderness.  The  poetry  and 
sprightliness  and  spring  of  life  are  gone  forever. 
They  walk,  perhaps,  with  downcast,  introverted 
eyes.  They  are  called  reserved,  haughty,  cold, 
stupid.  Mere  thoughtlessness  would  fain  see  if 
there  is  blood  beneath  the  marble,  and,  drawing 
her  bow  at  venture,  sends  an  arrow  quivering  into 
the  heart  of  hearts,  and  goes  on  her  smiling  way. 

But  all  this  can  and  must  be  borne.  The  hand 
that  metes  out  the  measure  to  us  all  never  yet  held 
false  balance.  Every  pain  is  instinc^t  with  good,  if 
you  will  but  have  the  wisdom  to  discern  it.  From 
every  bitter,  pluck  its  soul  of  sweetness.  The  con- 
flict may  be  fierce,  but  who  fight  for  God  in  the 
fighting  grow  strong.  You  may  leave  the  battle- 
field with  rent  and  blood-streaked  robes,  but  with 
a  nervous  right  arm.  "  Ce  rCest  pas  la  victoire  qui 
fait  le  bonheur  des  nobles  coeurs;  c'est  la  combat,^^  — 
(Not  the  victory,  but  the  struggle,  makes  the  hap- 
piness of  noble  hearts),  —  says  a  French  writer; 
but  upon  you,  if  you  will,  wait  both  struggle  and 
victory.  Strength  which  a  placid  life  can  never 
give  may  be  yours.  Heights  which  unrufiled  souls 
never  attain  you  can  climb  if  your  feet  are  w^illing ; 
and  fi-om  those  mountain-tops  you  will   gaze  on 


MEN  AND    WOMEN.  159 

such  visions  as  never  met  the  eye  of  dwellers  in 
the  valley. 

"  Behold  yon  grotto  where  the  dropping  tears 
Are  crystallized  to  columns  by  long  years ; 
So  shall  thy  sorrows,  child  of  mighty  grief, 
Bear  up  like  pillars  for  thy  soul's  relief." 

But  if  your  sorrow  is  to  be  thus  converted  into 
strength,  yourself  must  work  the  change.  It  has 
not,  as  many  seem  to  suppose,  an  innate,  self- 
developing,  elevating  power.  Whether  the  sculp- 
tor's chisel  carve  from  Parian  marble  the  purity 
and  grace  of  an  ideal  womanhood,  or  the  grim  vis- 
age of  a  churchyard  Death,  depends  on  the  hand 
that  holds  it.  The  April  rain  falls  alike  on  the 
gray  rock  and  the  brown  earth.  But  the  one,  un- 
mindful of  the  treasure,  yields  it  up  to  the  first  ray 
of  sunshine,  the  first  breath  of  the  west  wind,  and 
anon  is  as  gray  as  before.  The  other  takes  the 
soft  visitor  to  her  kindly  bosom,  and  down  out  of 
sight  the  little  messenger  goes  to  where  young  life 
is  stirring  in  the  darkness,  and  there  works  a  mir- 
acle. So  your  grief  will  be  to  you  a  savor  of  life 
unto  life,  or  of  death  unto  death,  according  as  you 
use  it.  If  you  nurse  it,  and  cherish  it,  and  brood 
over  it,  and  talk  about  it,  it  will  wax  greater  and 
greater,  filling  your  vision,  shutting  out  from  you 
all  sunshine,  concentrating  upon  itself  all  your 
thoughts,  and  clinging  to  you,  a  huge  excrescence, 
instead  of  entering  into  your  blood  and  nerves  and 
sinews,  softening,  refining.  Christianizing.     Grief, 


160  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

it  is  truly  said,  is  sacred  ;  but  grief  brought  forward 
promiscuously,  harped  upon,  condoled  over,  made 
the  staple  of  conv^ersation,  becomes  rapidly  profane. 
Grief  is  a  bond  of  union  between  men  who,  how- 
ever dissimilar  in  other  respects,  are  alike  liable  to 
its  attacks ;  but  the  great  world  rushes  on,  and 
cannot  loiter  long.  You  must  not  pull  the  string 
too  hard,  or  it  will  break.  If  you  have  a  sympa- 
thizing friend  to  whom  it  would  be  a  relief  to  un- 
bosom yourself,  do  so ;  but,  even  then,  be  careful 
that  you  do  not  dwell  too  long  upon,  or  recur  too 
often  to,  your  skeleton.  Your  friend  will  grieve 
with  you  sincerely  for  a  while,  but  w^U  presently 
outgrow  you.  Does  this  seem  harsh  ?  I  trust  not. 
Far  be  it  from  me  to  wound  those  whom  God  hath 
smitten.  I  only  say  what  I  believe  to  be  true, 
and  what,  if  true,  it  behooves  you  to  know.  It  is, 
moreover,  best  for  yourself  that  your  eyes  should 
not  always  be  turned  inward.  To  bring  happiness 
to  others  is  the  surest  way  to  bring  it  to  yourself. 
Apply  healing  to  other  minds  diseased,  and  you 
will  not  fail  to  heal  your  own.  The  law  of  impene- 
trability obtains  in  mind  as  well  as  in  matter.  Sor- 
row cannot  wholly  fill  the  heart  that  is  occupied 
with  others'  welfare.  Constant  melancholy,  fur- 
thermore, is  constant  rebellion.  If  you  will  only 
square  yourself  to  God's  will,  you  will  command  a 
cheerful  equanimity.  To  drag  along  a  miserable, 
fretful,  repining,  or  desponding  existence,  is  not 
resignation ;    but  she  who  turns  away  from   the 


MEN  AND    WOMEN.  161 

mound  beneath  which  her  first-born  lies,  back  to 
a  world  which  brings  only  an  aching  sense  of  void, 
shrinking  from  no  duty,  smiling  through  eyes  that 
will  ever  and  anon  turn  wistfully  heavenward, 
showing  her  sorrow  only  in  the  softer  footfall,  the 
added  tenderness  of  voice,  the  gentler  sympathy, 
the  warmer  pity  with  which  she  binds  up  the  bro- 
ken-hearted, —  ah !  she  is  the  true  victor.  On 
her  brow  shall  the  crown  be  set. 

In  the  old  days,  when  our  fathers  were  a  hand- 
ful of  men  in  a  great  land,  and  foe,  famine,  and 
pestilence  threatened  destruction  to  their  lessening 
ranks,  they  nightly  laid  their  dead  to  rest,  levelled 
the  frequent  graves  with  surrounding  earth,  and 
planted  in  the  sacred  soil  their  corn  and  grain, 
that  they  might  conceal  their  weakness  from  a 
wary  and  watchful  foe. 

So,  bury  your  griefs  out  of  sight,  deep,  deep, 
where  the  eye  of  the  world  cannot  pierce,  and 
over  them  sow  with  a  bountiful  hand  the  seed  of 
Christian  virtues,  and  from  the  ashes  of  your 
dead  hopes  shall  spring  up  a  living  growth  of 
Faith,  and  Patience,  and  Charity,  and  Love,  be- 
neath whose  waving  shadow  your  soul  shall  calmly 
sit  in  the  evening-tide  of  a  serene  life,  waiting  the 
voice  of  the  Lord. 

But  unhappiness  cannot  be  prevented  or  exter- 
minated by  a  "  whereas,  be  it  resolved "  alone. 
Action  is  not  more  the  chief  part  of  an  orator  than 
of  every  other  human  being.     It  is  the  necessity 


162  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

of  every,  noble  nature.  Change  is  the  essence  of 
life,  and  action  is  continuous  change,  —  wise  ac- 
tion, continuous  advancement.  Whether  grief  be 
real  or  imaginary,  —  and  imaginary  grief  is  real,  — 
employment  is  an  excellent  specific.  Ah!  that  is 
the  very  thing  you  want,  —  something  definite  to 
do.  Well,  there  is  the  school-house,  which  ninety- 
nine  girls  in  a  hundred  enter,  not  because  they 
feel  that  they  have  any  particular  call  that  way, 
but  because  it  seems  to  open  the  only  loop-hole  of 
escape  from  inanity.  That  you  have  no  taste  for 
the  work  is  the  smallest  possible  objection.  Good, 
honest  people,  reasoning  a  priori^  affirm  that  no 
one  can  be  a  good  teacher  unless  he  loves  teaching. 
Educational  conventions  and  professional  periodi- 
cals reiterate  the  statement,  till  they  perhaps  come 
to  believe  it  themselves ;  but  it  is  only  a  popular 
fallacy.  In  all  my  life,  I  have  known  but  one 
woman  who  really  loved  teaching  for  its  own  sake. 
Some  of  the  best  teachers  —  the  most  respected 
and  the  most  beloved  —  have  adopted  it  because 
it  was  the  only  work  that  offered  ;  and,  hating  it 
most  heartily,  have  accomplished  it  most  success- 
fully. But  it  is  far  more  probable  that,  being 
young  and  inexperienced,  you  fancy  teaching  will 
be  the  "  open  sesame  "  to  Paradise,  —  or  a  triple 
coat  of  mail  against  all  the  ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to ; 
but  you  may  as  well  undeceive  yourself  at  once. 
You  think  it  will  give  you  the  great  desideratum,  — 
employment,  occupation,  something  to  think  about. 


MEN  AND   WOMEN.  163 

Yes,  it  will,  indeed ;  so  much,  that,  if  you  do  all 
that  you  see  standing  in  need  of  doing,  you  will 
require  the  strength  of  Hercules  and  the  days  of 
the  planet  Jupiter.  If  you  are  strong  and  healthy, 
you  will  have  the  satisfaction  of  spending  five  or 
six  of  the  best  years  of  your  life  in  a  school,  and 
at  the  expiration  of  that  time  be  allowed  to  leave 
with  honor,  a  pale  face,  disordered  nerves,  tired 
brain,  and  shattered  constitution.  The  labor  re- 
quired in  ordinary  schools  of  the  higher  class  is 
such,  that  I  think  a  woman  of  average  physical 
strength  cannot  spend  more  than  four  consecu- 
tive years  in  them  without  breaking  down.  The 
draughts  on  the  vital  energy  are  so  unceasing, 
that  the  supply  cannot  equal  the  demand,  and  the 
fountain  is  exhausted.  Of  course  I  refer  only  to 
teachers  of  conscience  and  character.  An  inef- 
ficient, commonplace  routinist  can  drone  on  in  the 
same  rut,  ad  infinitum,  and  perhaps  give  complete 
satisfaction  to  an  astute  public.  So,  if  you  have 
been  tenderly  nursed  and  nurtured,  if  you  have 
indulged  an  appetite  for  sick  headaches,  if  you 
have  been  trained  in  the  belief  that  rest  should 
follow  labor,  and  that  the  best  work  can  be  per- 
formed by  the  best-conditioned  animal,  engage  to 
"  wash  for  the  ladies "  at  sixpence  an  hour,  or 
enter  a  bookbindery  and  be  paid  by  the  job,  or  dig 
clams  on  the  sea-shore  and  sell  them  in  the  shell, 
(which  I  always  fancied  must  be  a  delightful  occu- 
pation,)  or  hire  yourself  out  as  nursery-maid  to 


164  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

nine  small  children,  but  don't  enter  a  public  school, 
—  and  a  private  school  is  no  better,  and  a  great 
deal  worse,  since  the  former  only  devours  you 
piecemeal,  but  the  latter  swallows  you  whole,  body 
and  soul. 

But  you  think  it  will  be  so  delightful,  so  juvenes- 
cent^ to  be  surrounded  by  happy,  joyous,  bounding 
children.  You  can  quote  reams  of  poetry  on  the 
subject,  — 

"  A  beautiful,  and  happy  girl,"  — 

"  Child  amid  the  flowers  at  play,"  — 

"  A  simple  child, 
That  lightly  draws  its  breath,"  — 

"  A  baby  in  a  house  is  a  well-spring  of  pleasure,"  etc.,  — 

all  of  which  I  am  not  prepared  to  contradict ;  but 
a  hundred  and  fifty  babies  in  a  house,  together, 
representing  every  stage  of  infancy,  from  the  bread 
and  molasses  of  three  years  old,  to  the  nuts  and 
apple  coquetry  of  thirteen,  will  make  larger 
draughts  on  your  patience  than  on  your  poetry, 
and  exercise  your  judgment  more  than  your  im- 
agination. You  must  divest  yourself,  as  soon  as 
possible,  of  the  idea  that  all  children  are  little 
white- winged  angels,  with  golden  curls  and  rose- 
bud lips.  You  must  prepare  yourself  for  dia- 
monds in  the  rough,  and  sometimes  for  the  rough 
without  the  diamond.  Even  where  there  is  a 
diamond,  you  must  not  expect  to  polish  it  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye.  Perhaps  it  will  not  flash  its 
full  lustre  till  the  hand  that  first  made  way  for  its 


MEN  AND    WOMEN  165 

gleaming  has  crumbled  into  dust.  We  have  all 
read  any  number  of  stories  about  hordes  of  fero- 
cious boys,  who  have  organized  successful  and  suc- 
cessive rebellions,  and  ejected  a  long  line  of  male 
dynasties  from  the  professional  chair,  but  who 
have  suddenly  been  brought  to  roar  you  as 
gently  as  any  sucking  dove,  by  the  apparition 
of  a  sweet-faced,  low-voiced  woman.  Now,  I 
know  that  calmness  and  gentleness  and  firm- 
ness will  work  wonders,  where  passion  and  vio- 
lence and  storm  have  been  only  abbots  of  misrule, 
—  and  of  the  whole  circle  of  things  that  may 
happen  to  you,  this  may  happen  ;  but  I  would 
not  advise  you  to  set  your  heart  upon  it.  If 
you  begin  with  the  practical,  at  least,  if  not  theo- 
logical belief,  that  the  children  of  men  are  deceit- 
ful and  desperately  wicked,  prone  to  evil  as  the 
sparks  are  to  fly  upward,  you  will  be  happily 
disappointed,  if  you  are  disappointed  at  all.  Ex- 
pect to  meet  wormwood,  senna,  and  Epsom  salts  ; 
and  if  you  do  find  the  land  overflowing  with  milk 
and  honey,  you  will  be  doubly  delighted.  Be 
prepared  to  employ  sternness  of  tone,  severity  of 
manner,  and  anything  else  that  may  be  necessary ; 
and  if  a  fair  trial  convince  you  that  music  has 
charms  enough  to  soothe  the  savages,  why  then 
all  you  will  have  to  do  will  be  to  sing  with  all 
your  might  and  main. 

I  hope  you  will  not  be  shocked,  and  think  I 
recommend    you   to  turn   into   a  kind  of  ogress, 


166  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

with  the  appetite  of  the  Wantley  dragon,  whose 
ordinary  dessert  was 

"  Poor  children  three, 
That  could  not  with  him  grapple, 
But  at  one  sup  he  ate  them  up, 
As  one  would  eat  an  apple  " ;    • 

nor  into  a  modern  Medusa,  with  power  to  trans- 
form the  trembling  urchins  to  stone  by  a  look.  I 
only  wish  to  give  you  a  hint  of  unpleasant  possi- 
bilities, so  that,  if  your  Spanish  castle  should  fall, 
it  may  not  bury  you  in  the  ruins.  As  the  Cat 
observed  to  the  Ugly  Duckling,  "  I  say  disagree- 
able things,  but  it  is  for  your  good."  I  take  it 
for  granted  that  your  own  hearts  will  teach  you 
enough  of  love,  and  the  spirit  of  meekness  ;  that 
your  woman's  nature  makes  it  incumbent  on  one 
to  exhort  you  to  let  justice  temper  mercy,  rather 
than  mercy  temper  justice. 

There  are  other  stones  of  stumbling,  against 
which  you  may  as  well  be  forewarned.  Every 
community  that  has  emerged  from  a  state  of  bar- 
barism is  infested  with  excellent  and  exemplary 
individuals,  leaning  to  the  "  goody  —  good,"  ac- 
customed to  take  things  on  trust,  who  will 
embrace  every  opportunity  to  speak  a  word,  in 
season  and  out  of  season,  especially  out  of  season, 
on  the  fearful  and  weighty  responsibilities  of  your 
position.  I  advise  you,  as  a  friend,  not  to  listen 
to  them.  The  comparative  amount  of  your  re- 
sponsibility and  mine,  his,  hers,  or  its,  is  a  thing 
not  cognizable  by  human  eyes. 


MEN  AND  WOMEN.  167 

It  is  not  necessarily  the  man  who  comes  in  con- 
tact with  the  largest  number  of  people  who  exer- 
cises the  most  influence.  It  may  be  so,  but  it 
does  not  follow,  and  we  do  not  know  whether  it 
is  or  not.  When  John  Bunyan  was  cast  into 
Bedford  jail,  there  were  doubtless  many  pious 
souls  who  mourned  that  the  zeal  and  power  of  his 
best  years  should  be  thus  wasted ;  yet  through 
those  prison-walls  there  streams  a  light  which 
will  grow  brighter  and  brighter,  till  lost  in  the 
glory  of  the  Celestial  City.  Every  person  is  re- 
sponsible for  all  the  good  within  the  scope  of  his 
abilities,  and  for  no  more,  —  and  none  can  tell 
whose  sphere  is  the  largest.  A  mother,  tending 
her  child  in  the  quiet  seclusion  of  a  Virginian 
home,  sees  no  foreshadowing  of  a  mighty  destiny, 
yet  there  comes  a  day  when  an  empire's  fate 
trembles  in  the  tiny  hand  now  clasping  hers.  It 
is  therefore  impertinent  to  assume  that  the  re- 
sponsibility of  teachers,  or  of  any  one  class  of 
people,  is  greater  than  that  of  any  other.  The 
only  difference  is,  that  one  influences  at  first 
hand,  another  at  second  or  third.  At  every  foot- 
fafl,  we  set  in  motion  a  chord  whose  trembling 
thrills  ten  thousand  more,  and  wfll  quiver  on 
eternally.  Every  thought  and  word  and  deed 
of  every  human  being  is  followed  by  its  inevitable 
consequence ;  for  the  one  we  are  responsible ; 
with  the  other  we  have  nothing  to  do. 

You  will  also  probably  encounter  a  great  many 


168  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

deprecatory  remarks,  concerning  superficial  knowl- 
edge, a  smattering  of  the  sciences,  &c.  Fond 
mammas  will  think  they  are  making  a  display  of 
great  and  judicious  wisdom,  in  exhorting  you  to 
render  their  infants  thorough  masters  of  whatever 
study  they  pursue.  Now  I  think  superficial  knowl- 
edge is  a  very  good  thing  ;  and,  for  my  own  part, 
I  should  be  only  too  glad  to  be  well-smattered. 
In  the  first  place,  complete  mastery  by  school- 
children of  any  one  study  is  a  moral  impossibility ; 
not  only  from  the  organisation  of  our  school  system, 
but  from  the  very  structure  of  the  human  mind. 
Take  geography,  one  of  the  earliest  and  perhaps 
the  simplest  studies  attempted.  Childish  capacity 
cannot  seize  it  in  all  its  bearings,  nor  is  the  at- 
tempt to  present  them  wise.  Many  things  are 
taught  to  children  which  it  would  be  far  better 
for  them  to  find  out  themselves.  Let  them  grow 
up  to  their  difficulties  naturally,  instead  of  having 
difficulties  thrust  upon  them  from  without.  If  you 
lead  them  tenderly  up  to  a  fact,  they  will  quite 
probably  be  indifferent,  or  but  partially  interested ; 
but  if  they  run  against  it,  they  will  not  leave  it 
till  they  have  found  whence  it  came,  and  why  it 
is  there.  School  life  should  be  considered  only 
a  preparatory  course.  It  is  a  means,  not  an  end. 
It  is  what  you  work  out  of  their  minds,  and  not 
what  you  put  in,  that  is  of  importance.  If  a  boy, 
at  the  end  of  his  school  days,  has  learned  how  to 
study,  if  he  has  acquired  mental,  moral,  and  physi- 


MEN  AND   WOMEN.  169 

cal  self-control,  his  career  is  a  success,  no  matter 
how  many  or  how  few  things  he  knows.  Of  all 
the  knowledge  learned,  he  may  have  forgotten  the 
greater  part ;  but  the  wisdom  which  that  learning 
brought  him  is  his  inalienable  estate.  You  must 
be  content  to  lodge  the  seed,  for  April  rain  and 
May  sunshine  and  June  warmth  are  necessary  to 
bring  it-  to  perfect  fruitage.  You  may  drive  the 
nail,  but  time  alone  can  clinch  it. 

This  charge  of  superficial  knowledge  is  so  often 
brought  up  against  women,  that  I  may  be  pardoned 
for  pursuing  it  a  little  further,  and  asking  how- 
many  men  there  are  in  America  whose  knowledge 
of  things  generally  extends  far  beyond  a  smatter- 
ing ?  I  have  something  more  than  a  suspicion 
that,  if  the  principle  should-  obtain  that  we  are  to 
know  nothing  of  a  science  unless  we  know  that 
science  thoroughly,  the  sphere  of  our  knowledge 
would  suffer  a  sudden  collapse.  Is  it  indeed  de- 
sirable that  we  should  be  entirely  ignorant  of  the 
history  of  Greece,  unless  we  can  become  imbued 
with  the  spirit  of  her  golden  age,  —  entirely  con- 
versant with  her  literature,  her  antiquities,  her 
topography,  her  chmate,  her  Fauna  and  Flora,  — 
know  precisely  what  tide  of  religious  emotion  it 
was  that  swept  over  her,  bearing  on  its  crested 
wave  the  Parthenon,  —  what  silent  influence  of  sun 
and  shade  and  dew  and  rain  centred  on  the  germ 
that  sprung  up  into  that  magnificent  outgrowth  of 
national  eloquence,  whose  fruit  was  Demosthenes 
8 


170  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

and  his  immortal  compeers  ?  Shall  we  not  trace 
the  long  wanderings  of  the  heroic  Ten  Thousand, 
and  share  their  madness  of  delight,  when,  from 
the  heights  of  the  Sacred  Mountain,  their  eyes 
beheld  the  sparkle  and  glow  of  the  Euxine  Sea  ; 
or  watch  "  Idalian  Aphrodite  beautiful "  flush 
from  the  ocean  foam,  to  live  in  marble  forever ;  or 
dream  in  the  shadow  of  Olympus,  to  the  music 
of  that  harp  whose  strings  have  not  yet  ceased 
to  quiver,  —  because,  forsooth,  we  do  not  know  in 
what  city  Homer  was  born,  or  even  whether  there 
was  any  Homer  at  all ;  what  force  of  nature  the 
poetic  mind  of  early  Greece  symbolized  in  the 
Cytherean  myth  ;  what  wire-pullers,  lobby-mem- 
bers, or  Hellenic  Maintenon  moved  the  lever  that 
thrust  the  Persians  and  the  Greeks  in  each  others' 
faces  ?  Nay,  verily.  The  world  grew  nearly  six 
thousand  years  before  it  flowered  in  Linnaeus,  yet 
every  child  in  our  village  school-houses  will  listen 
with  appreciative  eagerness  while  you  point  out  to 
them  the  different  parts  of  a  common  pea-blossom, 
stamen,  pistil,  keel,  wings,  and  banner  ;  eveiy  eye 
will  sparkle,  and  every  little  listener  become  a 
practical  botanist,  and  bring  you  specimens  from 
every  kitchen  garden  in  the  neighborhood.  The 
Old  World  of  his  birth  and  the  New  World  of 
his  adoption  alike  contend  for  Agassiz ;  but  on 
shady  Saturdays  in  May,  every  brook  in  New 
England  is  fringed  with  ichthyologists  in  jackets, 
who  will  tell  you  the  habitat,  the  breathing  ap- 


MEN  AND   WOMEN.  171 

paratus,  the  locomotive  power,  of  trout  and  roach 
and  shiner  and  sucker  for  miles  around.  A  Hfe- 
time  is  not  too  much  to  spend  in  the  investigation 
of  the  structure  of  the  earth  ;  but  in  three  months 
an  intelhgent  boy  can  learn  enough  of  "  rock  and 
tree  and  flowing  water  "  to  give  a  new  interest 
and  beauty  to  every  landscape  on  which  his  man- 
hood's eye  may  rest.  Many  men  have  a  specialty, 
something  towards  which  they  are  drawn  by  an 
irresistible  impulse,  and  to  which  they  devote 
themselves  with  eager  and  delighted  zest.  Shall 
they  therefore  be  ignorant  of  everything  else  ? 
Many  more  have  no  specialty.  They  have  an 
•accumulative,  analytic,  and  critical  power,  and 
roam  at  large  through  many  fields.  They  make 
no  new  discoveries,  and  establish  no  new  generali- 
zations, but  they  are  delightful  companions,  the 
appreciative  welcomers  and  true  interpreters  of 
the  Master  Spirit  when  he  comes.  None,  so  far 
as  I  know,  are  thoroughly  versed  in  all  branches 
of  knowledge  ;  few,  in  any  one ;  but  many,  very 
many,  are  sufficiently  conversant  with  a  large 
variety  to  realize  the  words  of  the  poet, 

"  My  mind  to  me  a  kingdom  is," 

I  have  by  no  means  exhausted  the  possible  ex- 
asperations which  society  in  general  will  give  you, 
if  you  decide  to  teach.  The  man  who  makes 
your  shoes  thinks  it  incumbent  upon  him  to  learn 
the   trade ;    the  woman   who  trims  your   bonnets 


172  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

finds  it  necessary  to  serve  an  apprenticeship  ;  but 
the  world  at  large,  collectively  and  individually, 
considers  itself  abundantly  qualified  to  make  sug- 
gestions, offer  opinions,  and  pass  judgment  on  so 
simple  and  easy  a  matter  as  teaching ;  nor  will 
any  motive  of  delicacy  prevent  its  doing  so.  You 
will  also  have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  you, 
devoting  the  prime  of  your  life,  are  receiving  from 
one  to  three  fourths  as  much  money  as  a  boy  pre- 
paring for  his  junior  examination  would  receive  in 
the  same  situation  ;  or  a  graduate,  laying  up  money 
for  his  medical  or  theological  lectures.  The  sub- 
ject  grows  too  rapidly  under  my  hand,  and  I  be- 
lieve I  shall  have  to  devote  a  separate  treatise  to- 
its  discussion  ;  but  I  must  show  you  a  few  gleams 
from  the  "  Sunny  Side,"  before  I  pass  on. 

In  the  first  place,  if  you  wish  to  love  and  to  be 
loved,  it  offers  you  delightful  opportunity.  You 
will  bind  fresh  young  hearts  to  your  own,  with  a 
tie  that  time  only  strengthens  and  hallows.  They 
are  too  far  removed  from  you  to  see  your  faults, 
and  they  will  leave  you  before  they  have  acquired 
discernment  enough  to  do  so.  Consequently,  you 
will  be  enshrined  in  their  memories,  haloed  with 
a  glory  that  is  less  of  your  deserts  than  of  their 
imaginings.  They  will  see  what  you  aim  to  be, 
rather  than  what  you  are.  They  will  mark  your 
standard,  and  not  your  inability  to  reach  it.  You 
wall  be  associated  with  their  purest  thoughts  and 
ambitions,  their  most  innocent  joys  and  simplest 


MEN  AND   WOMEN.  173 

pleasures, — with  all  that  in  after  days  they  will  sigh 
to  remember,  —  with  the  dew  and  freshness  of  their 
morning.  You  will  also  be  doing  godlike  work,  — 
moulding  mind,  fashioning  material  which  is  inde- 
structible. You  will  see  your  influence,  as  you 
go  on  from  day  to  day,  in  the  awakening  interest, 
the  brightening  eye,  the  more  thoughtful  broAv,  the 
kinder  hand,  and  warmer  heart ;  and  below  the 
surface,  below  all  that  you  can  see,  the  train  you 
have  set  in  motion  is  going  noiselessly  on.  With- 
out sound  of  hammer  or  axe,  there  is  rising  a 
beautiful  temple,  meet  residence  for  the  indwell- 
ing of  the  Holy  Spirit.  A  lovely,  gentle  woman, 
who  went  to  heaven  long  ago,  probably  never 
dreaming  of  the  work  she  had  done,  perhaps 
weeping  that  she  had  been  but  an  unprofitable 
servant,  changed  the  current  of  at  least  one  life, 
turning  it  from  the  valley  of  the  Shadow  of 
Death,  through  the  pleasant  land  of  Beulah  ;  and 
now,  years  after,  a  young  man,  her  pupil,  writes 
thus  tenderly  of  her :  "  She  has  a  place  in  my 
soul,  a  little  inner  room,  where  once  dwelt  pas- 
sion, gloom,  and  chaos  ;  but  when  she  opened  it, 
she  gently  arranged  it,  dispelled  the  gloom  that 
obscured  the  window,  and  till  I  fall  asleep  her 
face  shall  ever  meet  me  there,  with  all  I  hold 
most  dear." 

To  be  thus  treasured  up,  not  in  one  soul,  but  in 
many  souls ;  to  live,  not  your  own  life  only,  but 
hundreds    and   hundreds   of  other   lives,  perhaps 


174  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

wiser,  purer,  or  happier  than  yours  ;  to  be  woven 
in  with  the  warp  and  woof  of  boyhood's  strong, 
firm  web  ;  to  gleam  and  flash  through  the  finer, 
subtler  texture  of  girlhood  ;  —  this  is  your  "  ex- 
ceeding great  reward." 

Girls  generally  have  more  or  less  taste  for 
writing.  If  we  eould  believe  critics  on  the  sub- 
ject, they  take  to  poetry  as  naturally  as  ducks  to 
water  ;  but  we  do  not  believe  critics,  because  they 
write  from  theory,  not  from  observation,  and  know 
little  about  the  inner  life  of  girls,  —  actual,  every- 
day girlhood.  Of  all  those  who  are  unfitted  by 
their  organization  for  a  life  of  inactivity,  by  their 
moral  sense  for  frivolity,  by  their  position,  posses- 
sions, or  taste  for  manual  labor,  by  far  the  larger 
part  will  turn  to  the  school-room  rather  than  to 
the  pen.  Still  there  are,  in  the  aggregate,  many 
who  cast  wistful  and  furtive  glances  towards  au- 
thorship.    It  is  to  them  a 

"  Summer  isle  of  Eden,  lying  in  dark  purple  spheres  of  Sea,"  — 

a  Land  of  Promise,  wreathed  in  golden  mist,  in- 
distinctly limned,  but  wondrous  fair.  To  the  high- 
spirited  and  finely-stning  it  proffers  mental  work 
and  pleasurable  excitement  behind  an  impene- 
trable veil.  To  the  poor  and  struggling  it  is  a 
mystic  Aladdin's  lamp,  flashing  before  their  daz- 
zled eyes  the  gleam  of  gold,  paving  their  way  to 
happiness  with  pearls  and  diamonds. 

Undoubtedly  these    castles   in  the  air  are  not 


MEN  AND   WOMEN.  175 

"  the  baseless  fabric  of  a  vision,"  but,  like  our 
thrilling  novels,  are  founded  on  fact,  perhaps  on 
just  about  as  large  a  proportion  of  fact.  There 
is  a  charm  about  writing.  I  can  conceive  of  few 
things  more  delightful  than  to  see  one's  self  right- 
angled  off  in  oblong  form,  on  fine  white  paper, 
with  broad  margins,  clear  type,  Russian  calf,  and 
illustrations  by  Darley. 

If  your  cistern  is  over-fiiH,  a  newspaper  is  a 
very  convenient  faucet,  if  you  can  unscrew  it.  I 
know  that  editors  complain  bitterly  of  the  multi- 
tudinous pipes  directed  to  their  sanctums,  and  the 
"  weak,  washy,  everlasting  flood  "  with  which  they 
are  inundated ;  but  I  would  not  hold  back  on  that 
account.  What  is  the  use  of  having  newspapers, 
pray,  if  you  cannot  write  for  them  ?  Do  dry-goods 
clerks  complain  because  their  counters  are  contin- 
ually strewed  with  silks  and  muslins, — because 
they  are  constantly  obliged  to  arrange,  and  de- 
range, and  rearrange  ?  Why,  it  is  their  business. 
It  is  a  sign  of  prosperity.  A  shop  whose  shelves 
were  always  in  order  would  be  apt  to  close  busi- 
ness in  a  month,  and  a  newspaper  which  is  not 
sufficiently  alive  and  active  to  draw  into  Its  vortex 
a  host  of  spirits  from  the  vasty  deep  around  it, 
will  soon  stagnate  into  decay  and  death.  Besides, 
how  sinall  a  portion  of  the  whole  suffering  is  borne 
by  the  editor.  It  is  absolutely  appalling  to  think 
of  the  hopes  and  fears,  the  aspirations  and  dreams, 
the  anxieties,  tears,  and  heart-throbs,  the  watch- 


176  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

ing,  waiting,  and  disappointment,  slmt  up  in  the 
"  dark  drawers  "  of  editorial  tables,  —  those  ter- 
rible Black  Holes  of  literature.  And  the  worst 
of  it  is,  that  in  the  great  majority  of  cases  the  exe- 
cution is  merited.  I  suppose  it  does  sometimes 
happen  that  wheat  and  chaff  are  alike  condemned. 
In  fact,  I  know  it  does.  If  you  should  be  imperti- 
nent, and  ask  me  how  I  know,  I  should  follow  the 
example  of  the  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table, 
and  simply  say,  "  Nullum  tui  negotii.^^  Still,  as  I 
was  remarking,  if  your  poem  is  not  printed,  there 
is  a  presumption,  at  least,  that  it  was  not  worth 
printing. 

Men  talk  as  if  it  were  a  sin  to  write,  unless  the 
writing  be  of  the  very  highest  order.  But  are  all 
preachers  Pauls  ?  all  soldiers  Bonapartes  ?  all  ac- 
tors Garricks  ?  all  statesmen  Washino-tons  ?  Shall 
a  woman  not  dance  unless  she  have  the  heels  of  an 
Ellsler,  or  sing  without  the  voice  of  a  Lind,  or 
paint  without  the  pencil  of  an  Angelo  ?  Would  it 
even  be  better  so  ?  Is  there  not  many  a  man 
whose  pulses  thrill  to  the  notes  of  "  Yankee  Doo- 
dle," who  would  sit  calm  and  impassive  under 
"  Casta  Diva  "  ? 

A  certain  reviewer  said  of  a  certain  writer,  that 
her  poems  had  done  positive  harm,  —  they  had 
weakened  the  English  language  and  perverted  the 
English  taste  ;  that  it  would  really  be  better  if  she 
had  never  taken  a  pen  in  her  hand ;  and  then  he 
pronounced  an  anathema   on   the   whole  race  of 


MTIN  AND   WOMEN.  177 

feminine  rhymers.  Nonsense,  again !  Is  tbe 
English  language  more  important  than  the. Eng- 
lish heart  ?  Is  the  marble  statue  which  the  skilful 
artist  carves  with  his  chisel  of  greater  moment 
than  the  living  soul  which  he  is  to  shape,  "  not  for 
an  age,  but  for  all  time,"  —  ay,  and  for  all  eter- 
nity ?  All  over  the  green  fields  of  England,  and 
under  the  blue  skies  of  America,  hearts  have 
throbbed  and  eyes  have  filled  with  tears  at  a  wo- 
man's simple  songs.  Of  what  use  is  it,  then,  for  a 
critic  to  rise  up  in  his  self-conceit  and  say,  "  This 
is  not  poetry ;  this  is  all  sentiment ;  it  ought  not 
to  be  written  ;  it  is  not  Miltonian  nor  Spenserian 
nor  Virgilian  nor  Dantesque ;  it  is  not  written 
according  to  the  rules  of  high  art." 

You  may  tell  a  mother  that  her  child's  features 
are  not  Grecian,  that  his  skin  is  browned  and 
freckled  by  sun  and  wind,  that  his  hair  is  coarse 
and  his  form  ungainly ;  but  will  she  clasp  him  to 
her  bosom  with  any  the  less  tenderness,  or  will  she 
thenceforth  cease  to  whisper  his  name  in  her  morn- 
ing and  evening  prayer  ?  The  object  of  poetry  is 
to  please — and  whom?  Not  the  elegant,  the  cul- 
tivated, the  delicately-nurtured,  merely  ;  but  the 
poor,  the  homely,  the  ignorant,  as  well.  It  is  to 
polish  the  rough,  to  refine  the  vulgar,  to  ennoble 
the  commonplace,  to  scatter  pearls  before  those 
who  find  the  path  to  heaven  among  the  untrodden 
ways  of  life.  Go  to  now,  fools,  and  slow  of  heart 
to  believe !     There  must  be  vesSels  of  honor  and 

8*  L 


178  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

vessels  of  dishonor.  All  stars  have  not  the  same 
glory  J  but  one  star  differeth  from  another  star 
in  glory.  Homer  wrote  the  Iliad,  and  Florilla 
Flowerdale  writes  a  Sonnet  to  a  Dew-drop  ;  and 
though  the  soul  of  the  one  be  the  basin  of  an 
ocean,  and  that  of  the  other  a  gill  dipper,  they  are 
both  full.  There  is  but  one  Chinese  wall,  but 
there  are  many  stone  fences  ;  and  they  are  en- 
tirely effectual  in  keeping  the  cows  from  the 
meadow  and  the  sheep  from  the  corn.  There 
are  but  few  St.  Paul's  Cathedrals,  but  white  spires 
peer  heavenward  from  every  valley  ;  and  way- 
worn feet  tread  cheerily  thitherward,  and  many 
souls  are  refreshed  and  gladdened.  The  nightin- 
gale is  the  sweetest  of  all  birds,  but  we  could  ill 
spare  from  our  woodland  chorus  the  notes  of  the 
robin,  the  hum  of  the  bee. 

No  little  confusion  of  ideas  prevails  as  to  what 
constitutes  useless  and  useful,  light  and  heavy  lit- 
erature. There  are  many  who  open  their  damp 
G-azettes,  Journals^  Chronicles,  Couriers,  and  plod 
through  miles  of  dry,  dusty,  dreary  political  edi]to- 
rials,  going  to  show  that  the  country  will  sink  to 
remediless  ruin  if  Jenkins  is  elected  town-clerk, 
but  will  rise  to  untold  heights  of  glory  should 
the  spotless  Muggins  radiate  his  splendor  from 
that  lofty  station  ;  and  they  fancy  themselves  pa- 
triotic, absorbed  in  noble  themes,  interested  only 
in  what  is  excellent  and  of  good  report.  Or  they 
plunge  into  the  fbreign  news  column,  litter  their 


MEN  AND   WOMEN.  179 

brain  with  the  grand  dinner  given  by  the  Legation 
on  somebody's  birthday,  or  the  astute  prophecies 
of  some  mercantile  agent,  whose  historical  knowl- 
edge is  bound  up  in  Whelpley's  Compend,  con- 
cerning the  ultimate  fate  of  Italy,  the  far-reach- 
ing designs  of  Louis  Napoleon,  and  the  balance 
of  power  in  Europe ;  and  don't  ihink^  probably, 
but  have  a  kind  of  pleasant,  unconscious  feeling., 
that  they  are  employing  their  vast  intellect  on 
abstruse  and  weighty  matters.  Or  they  watch  the 
light-heeled  Blondin  on  his  tight  rope,  admire  the 
financial  operations  of  enterprising  scoundrels,  mar- 
vel at  the  manifold  and  ingenious  crimes  brought 
to  light  in  New  York,  and  call  this  "  intelhgent," 
"  well-informed,"  —  "  keeping  up  with  the  times  " ; 
while  they  pass  over  the  stories,  the  essays,  the 
poetry,  to  their  wives  and  daughters,  as  light  read- 
ing, quite  too  small  for  the  attention  of  their  stu- 
pendous minds. 

But  a  story  or  a  poem  may  comprehend  the 
whole  duty  of  man.  I  have  read  such  a  one.  I 
recollect  "  Herman,  or  Young  Knighthood,"  which 
contained  not  only  more  wit,  but  more  wisdom,  — • 
not  only  more  beauty,  but  more  grandeur,  —  not 
only  more  play  of  fancy,  more  power  of  imagina- 
tion, more  directness  of  purpose,  more  felicity  of 
expression,  and  more  elegance  of  diction,  but  more 
knowledge  of  human  nature,  more  soundness  of 
judgment,  grander  conceptions  of  human  aspira- 
tions and  human  capacity  to  love  and  to  suffer,  to 


180  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

enjoy,  to  act,  to  die,  and  to  rise  again,  —  a  vaster 
sweep  of  thought,  broader  generalization,  more 
comprehensive  views,  more  logical  and  accurate 
reasoning,  nicer  analysis,  and  a  higher  standard 
of  Christian  manhood,  —  than  you  will  find  in  a 
column  of  your  "  solid  reading  "  that  would  reach 
from  Maine  to  Georgia? 

People  must  live  their  life,  one  way  or  another, 
—  on  battle-field  or  quarter-deck  ;  in  cabinet,  lab- 
oratory, pulpit,  or  nursery.  Boys  expend  theirs 
on  Virgil  and  candy ;  men,  on  farm  and  ledger, 
with  a  small  surplus  that  goes  to  liquidate  the 
claims  of  Smith  and  Jones  to  the  suffrages  of  an 
enlightened  community.  Girls  read  Lalla  Rookh, 
crotchet  lamp-mats,  write  interminable  letters  to 
immortal  female  friendship,  and  so  manage  to  drain 
off  their  spare  life,  till,  in  the  course  of  human 
events,  it  runs  naturally  to  housekeeping  and  ba- 
bies, and  takes  the  whole  force  to  keep  the  mill 
a-going. 

But  sometimes  the  farm  and  nursery  and  work- 
shop do  not  use  up  all  the  fluid ;  then,  according 
as  it  makes  for  itself  a  channel,  or  is  pent  up  in 
too  narrow  bounds,  you  have  Shakespeare  chain- 
ing the  ages  to  his  triumphal  car,  or  Chatterton 
flinging  down  life  at  sixteen  years  as  a  burden 
too  heavy  to  be  borne.  You  have  Raleigh,  leav- 
ing the  apple-orchards  of  beautiful  Devon  for  an 
unknown  Land  of  Faery,  a  new  Jason,  wander- 
ing world-wide  for  a  golden  fleece ;  Spenser,  walk- 


MEN  AND    WOMEN.  181 

ing  with  Genii  in  enchanted  woods,  and  weaving 
a  mightier  spell  than  they ;  Burns,  upheaving  not 
only  the  soil  with  his  plough,  but  the  land  with 
his  song ;  Browning,  voicing  on  her  many-stringed 
lyre  the  "  Cry  of  the  Children  "  who  pass  through 
the  fire  to  Moloch ;  Bronte,  chained  to  her  deso- 
late rock,  and  eating  her  own  heart  out  with  a 
sharper  than  Promethean  torture ;  Stow^e,  throw- 
ing open  to  the  shuddering  day  a  sepulchre  full  of 
dead  men's  bones,  and  all  uncleanness ;  Sappho, 
harping  her  own  requiem  on  the  Leucadian  cliff; 
Socrates,  calmly  quenching  with  hemlock  the  life 
that  would  no  otherwise  be  stayed ;  Dante,  gazing 
in  rapt  beatific  vision  on  the  glorified  face  of  Bea- 
trice ;  Galileo,  spinning  the  world  around  in  spite 
of  the  pious  dunces  who  sat  on  it  in  solemn  con- 
clave to  hold  it  down  ;  Kane,  walking  in  silence 
with  the  Spirit  of  Storms  ;  Paul,  transported  with 
a  holy  ardor,  denouncing  woe  to  himself  if  he  rein 
in  the  fiery  wbrds  that  leap  to  his  lips ;  David,  the 
stripling,  ruddy,  and  of  a  beautiful  countenance, 
changed  by  the  spear-touch  of  an  heroic  purpose 
from  the  dreaming  shepherd-boy  to  the  champion 
of  Israel ;  and  William  of  Orange,  and  Alfred  the 
Great,  and  Milton,  and  Tasso,  and  Napoleon,  and 
Homer,  and  Mozart. 

Corollary  1.  Everybody  has  just  so  much  life 
to  live,  and  if  it  is  dammed  up  in  one  direction  it 
will  overflow  in  another. 

Corollary  2.    Greatness,  heroism,  glory,  spring 


182  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

from  what  is  left  over  and  above  necessity.  That 
is,  some  people  have  just  soul  enough  for  salt.  You 
cannot  conceive  a  further  diminution  of  their  men- 
tal endowments  unattended  by  immediate  physical 
decomposition.  Of  course  they  have  nothing  to 
spare  for  fame.  But  the  highest  must  have  body 
as  well  as  the  lowest  intellect.  The  body  is  the 
strong  cord  which  keeps  the  "  animula  vagula  blan- 
dula  "  from  flying  off  in  a  tangent.  They  cannot 
live  in  a  state  of  pure  mind,  any  more  than  the 
others  can  live  in  a  state  of  pure  matter.  Conse- 
quently, there  is  a  plane  on  which  they  both  meet, 
and  that  plane  is  bread  and  butter.  But  the  one 
never  soars  above  it,  while  the  other  never  remains 
upon  it.  Herein  consists  the  difference  between 
the  two.  It  is  from  the  latter,  roaming  about  in 
the  empyrean,  that  we  get  our  grandeur  and  sub- 
limity, our  pathos  and  poetry. 

Corollary  3.  Female  authorship,  instead  of 
being  deprecated,  ought  to  be  encouraged  as  the 
great  safety-valve  of  society ;  and  those  who  ridi- 
cule and  oppose  it  show  themselves  far  behind 
the  age  in  endeavoring  to  put  down  such  an 
army  with  no  better  weapon  than  that  where- 
with Samson  slew  a  thousand  Philistines  fifty 
centuries  ago. 

Many  a  woman  with  no  pretensions  to  genius 
walks  her  daily  round,  fulfils  all  wifely  duties, 
seems  contented  and  happy  in  her  home  of  peace 
and  plenty,  who  is  nevertheless  sometimes  lonely 


MEN  AND   WOMEN.  183 

and  dispirited.  There  are  glimmerings  of  some- 
what higher ;  shadowy  remembrances  of  girUsh 
aspirations  and  heroic  purposes  ;  a  sad  and  eager 
questioning —  "  Is  this  all  ?  "  —  to  the  heart  that 
vouchsafes  no  reply.  This  feeling  can  find  no 
vent  like  poetry  or  music.  If  from  the  keys  of 
her  piano  or  the  strings  of  her  harp  her  troubled 
spirit,  Saul-like,  shall  find  rest,  it  is  well ;  but  if 
she  have  no  spell  to  evoke  the  genius  of  song, 
why  should  you  forbid  her  to  give  expression  by 
rhythmic  cadence  to  the  feeling  which,  unvoiced, 
will  be  crushed  back  into  the  soil  whence  it 
sprang,  to  moulder  and  decay,  and  cast  a  mil- 
dew and  blight  on  all  the  graces,  virtues,  and 
affections  which  should  adorn  and  beautify  life  ? 
The  little  poem  may  be  simple  in  thought  and 
rugged  in  outline  ;  it  may  be  at  once  consigned 
to  the  silence  of  a  secret  drawer ;  but  the  long- 
ing is  gratified,  the  pent-up  mind  has  found  an 
outlet,  and  the  weary  woman  goes  on  her  way 
rejoicing.  Years  afterward,  when  the  hand  that 
wrote  it  is  cold  in  the  grave,  a  daughter's  eyes, 
it  may  be,  will  fall  upon  it,  and  a  page  of  that 
mother's  history,  hitherto  all  unrevealed,  be  sud- 
denly illuminated  ;  and  between  the  daughter 
on  earth  and  the  mother  in  heaven  there  will 
be  another  and  a  golden  link,  which  the  world 
knoweth  not  of. 

Girls,    do   not   be    deceived.      Write.       Write 
poetry,  —  write  in  rhyme,  —  if  it  is    only 


184  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

"  One,  two, 
Buckle  my  shoe ; 
Three,  four, 
Open  the  door." 

Form  the  habit.  It  is  often  convenient.  It  is  a 
refuge  from  ennui.  It  may  do  good.  Any  one 
of  you  who  refrains  from  writing  for  fear  of 
ridicule,  is  a  coward.  Don't  be  a  coward. 
There  is  not  much  to  a  woman  at  best.  She 
is  not  expected  to  liave  physical  courage ;  but  if 
she  has  not  moral,  pray,  what  has  she  ?  The 
more  a  man  tells  you  not  to  write,  the  more  do 
you  write.  By  this  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that 
you  must  immediately  publish  a  volume  of 
"  Something,  and  other  Poems,"  though  even 
that  I  advise  you  to  do,  if  you  feel  disposed  and 
can  afford  it.  It  is  better  than  to  be  talking 
scandal  or  makino;  flounces.  Would-be  critics 
lament  pathetically  or  satirize  mercilessly  this 
"  rushing  into  print."  It  is  mere  selfishness  on 
their  part.  You  might  rush  elbow  deep  into  a 
batter  pudding,  or  bury  heart  and  soul  and 
mind,  beyond  all  hope  of  disinterment,  beneath  a 
confused  rubbish  of  unmended  stockings,  or  by  a 
letter  of  recommendation  become  the  fifth  wife  of 
some  hard-worked,  hard-working,  broken-down, 
and  worn-out  missionary,  and  they  would  not  lift 
a  finger  to  prevent.  No,  girls  ;  no.  If  your 
heart  is  stirred  within  you  to  write,  write  !  If 
you  can  find  an  editor  or  publisher  who  is  will- 


MEN  AND   WOMEN.  185 

ing  to  print  for  you,  print  I  Somewhere  in  the 
world,  a  heart-string  may  tremble  to  your  feeble 
and  unsteady  touch,  with  a  strange  bliss.  I  do 
not  suppose  a  line  of  poetry  was  ever  written, 
from  the  New  Hampshire  bard's 

"  The  beauties  of  nature,  I  positive  declare 
The  beauties  of  nature  are  very  rich  and  rare," 

to  the  stately  hexameters  of  Britain's  sturdy  old 
Republican,  which  did  not  bear  a  message  of  joy 
or  consolation  to  some  of  God's  children,  — 
whose  coming  was  not  watched  for,  perhaps,  by 
many  loving  eyes,  and  gazed  at  with  untiring 
satisfaction.  Never  be  concerned  about  readers. 
You  will,  at  all  events,  read  it  yourself,  and,  bet- 
ter than  all,  you  will  appreciate  it.  Your  darling 
Arabella  will  read,  admire,  and  very  probably 
cut  it  out  and  place  it  in  her  scrap-book.  What 
is  fame,  more  than  this  ? 

If  you  are  a  little  inclined  to  egotism,  and  toler- 
ably imaginative,  you  can  trick  yourself  out  in  all 
sorts  of  Protean  shapes  ;  serve  yourself  up  in  as 
many  different  disguises  as  a  French  cook  does  a 
ragout;  and,  at  the  same  time,  preserve  the  most 
rigid  reticence  ;  because  no  one  knows  how  much 
is  memory  and  how  much  is  imagination.  Or  if 
you  have  acquired  the  habit  of  entertaining  views 
of  things,  it  gives  you  an  excellent  opportunity  to 
exhibit  them  ;  and  of  the  many  comfortable  things 
in  the  world,  one  of  the  most  comfortable  is  to  give 
your  views.     It  is  so  agreeable  to  say  things,  when 


186  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

you  have  things  to  say.  Your  opinions  may  not 
be  very  striking,  or  original,  or  important ;  still  it 
is  a  relief  to  express  them.  No  matter  if  they 
have  been  said  fifty  times  before  ;  you  never  said 
them.  They  must  go  through  the  crucible  of  your 
brain  before  they  can  be  efficient  in  preventing  a 
congestion  from  plethora  of  ideas.  The  stream 
may  have  meandered  down  the  mountanis  of  life 
a  thousand  years,  and  heaped  together  priceless 
diamonds  and  ingots  of  gold,  and  yet  fail  in  that 
fertilizing  power  more  valuable  than  all,  till  it 
sweeps  along  the  rich  alluvial  deposits  that  lie  in 
the  green  meadows  of  your  own  soul.  It  does  not 
satisfy  your  craving  for  the  "  delicacies  of  the  sea- 
son," to  know  that  salmon  and  peas  have  been 
eaten  since  the  world  began. 

In  so  far  as  literature  seems  to  you  a  royal  road 
to  fame  and  fortune,  let  me  entreat  you  not  to  be 
deceived.  If  you  have  been  put  through  Watts's 
"  Sixteen  Rules  for  Gaining  Knowledge  and  Men- 
tal Improvement  "  as  thoroughly  as  I,  I  shall  not 
need  to  say,  "  Be  not  so  weak  as  to  imagine  that 
a  life  of  learnino;  is  a  life  of  laziness  and  ease." 
But,  besides  good  Dr.  Watts's  exhortations,  the 
testimony  of  the  great  mass  of  writers  proclaims, 

"  Hard  the  labor,  small  the  gain, 
Is  in  making  bread  from  brain." 

I  have  seen,  in  several  modern  American  novels, 
certain  counter  statements.  Brilliant  but  obscure 
young  women  are  represented  as  having  surrep- 


MEN  AND   WOMEN.  137 

titiously  sprung  a  book  upon  an  unsuspecting  pub- 
lic, and  being  summarily  overwhelmed  with  money, 
and  fame,  and  troops  of  distinguished  friends  and 
patrons.  I  know  that  charming  Fanny  Burney 
did  really  smuggle  her  Eveline  into  the  world 
without  even  the  complicity  of  "  Daddy  Crisp," 
and  that  there  presently  fell  upon  her  listening, 
straining,  but  scarcely  expectant  ear,  a  rustling 
among  the  mulberry-trees ;  coaches  blocked  up 
the  way  to  the  circulating  libraries  ;  Burke  sat  up 
all  night  to  watch  the  adventures  of  a  young  lady 
upon  her  first  entrance  into  the  world ;  fops  lev- 
elled their  glasses ;  women  of  fashion  patronized 
the  shrinking  authoress  ;  and  the  brutal,  benevolent 
"  Great  Cham  "  coiled  his  huge  arm  thrice  about 
her  slender  w^aist,  and  bound  her  to  him  forever. 
Nor  have  I  any  doubt  that,  notwithstanding  Camp- 
bell's savage  toast,  publishers  are  often  honest,  up- 
right, excellent  men,  many  of  whom  would  gladly 
bind  up  the  wounds  and  bruises  which  their  own 
hands  have  been  forced  to  inflict.  There  are  indi- 
viduals among  them  —  several  I  know  —  who  are 
perfect  pinks  of  disinterested  kindness,  full  of  good 
works  and  alms-deeds.  Still,  I  think  I  do  not  err 
in  affirming  that,  as  a  class,  they  are  not  large- 
ly addicted  to  sending  huge  rolls  of  spontaneous 
bank-bills  to  anonymous  correspondents.  When 
you  hear  of  men's  receiving  twenty,  forty,  or  a 
hundred  dollars  a  page,  and  twenty  and  forty  thou- 
sand for  a  volume  of  history  or  romance  or  science. 


188  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

don't  think  of  the  forty  dollars  simply,  but  of  the 
forty  years  of  daily  and  nightly  toil,  research, 
study,  thought,  contrivance,  experiment,  disap- 
pointment, discouragement,  vexation,  and  heart- 
ache that  have  preceded  them. 

"  The  crowd,  they  only  see  the  crown, 
They  only  hear  the  hymn ; 
They  mark  not  that  the  cheek  is  pale. 
And  that  the  eye  is  dim." 

Do  you  prize  the  crown  so  highly,  that  you  will 
bear  the  cross  ?  To  be  purified  by  the  poet's  fire, 
will  you  endure  the  anguish  of  the  burning  ?  Do 
you  worship  the  goddess  with  so  true  a  faith,  that 
you  will  offer  up  yourself  at  her  shrine  ? 

There  are  obstacles  without  as  well  as  within. 
A  certain  prejudice  against  female  writers  "  still 
lives."  It  is  fine,  subtle,  impalpable,  but  real.  It 
is  like  the  great  ocean  of  air  that  wraps  us  round. 
A  little  of  it  cannot  be  seen  ;  it  is  only  in  mass 
that  it  becomes  visible.  It  is  like  a  far-off  star ; 
look  straight  at  it,  and  it  is  not  there  ;  look  askance, 
and  it  twinkles  and  winks  at  you  again.  It  is  like 
the  Indian  in  warfare  ;  it  never  meets  you  face  to 
face,  and  takes  fair  aim,  but,  darting  behind  shelter, 
sends  a  shot  obliquely.  It  is  also  like  the  Devil ; 
resist  it,  and  it  will  flee  from  you.  It  is  indeed 
vanishing  every  day  ;  and  as  woman  gravitates  to 
her  proper  place,  and  the  elements  cease  to  be 
agitated,  it  will  entirely  disappear.  Like  other 
fashions  founded  on  whim,   caprice,   or   injustice, 


MEN  AND   WOMEN.  189 

and  not  on  the  eternal  fitness  of  things,  it  will  go 
from  master  to  man,  from  man  to  scullion,  from 
scullion  to  the  dogs.  It  has  already  begun  its 
downward  progress.  Large-hearted  and  large- 
brained  men,  the  monarchs  of  thought,  have  flung 
it  clean  off.  The  ranks  below  them,  men  of  small 
capacities  but  unbounded  ambition,  who  see  in 
women  their  own  rivals,  —  who  fear,  and  justly, 
too,  that  a  fair  field  and  no  favor  would  oust  them 
from  seats  they  have  questionable  claim  to  fill  and 
infinite  difficulty  to  hold,  —  have  caught  the  flim- 
sy, floating  thing,  and  see  but  darkly  through  its 
tremulous  shimmer  ;  and,  with  limbs  tangled  in  its 
fair,  strong,  invisible  meshes,  walk  stumbling  and 
uncertain.  So  long  as  you  will  lend  yourself  to 
the  amusement  of  these  men,  —  be  witty,  playful, 
piquant,  affectionate,  and  saucy  ;  dance  and  sparkle 
along  their  ascending  pathway  ;  circle,  as  brilliant 
a  satellite  as  you  please,  round  themselves,  the 
central,  acknowledged  sun,  —  they  will  shine  down 
on  you  the  most  benignant  and  complacent  conde- 
scension. But  once  undertake  to  set  up  for  your- 
self; get  the  troublesome  idea  into  your  head,  that 
that  head  was  given  you  for  something  more  than 
a  series  of  fireworks  ;  tell  them  seriously  that  you 
have  been  thinking  whether  all  play  may  not  make 
Gill  a  mere  toy,  just  as  it  does  Jack,  and  whether 
there  may  not  be  something  in  the  world  for  you 
to  do,  —  whether  the  purling,  singing,  happy  brook, 
that  now  only  freshens  the  violets  on  its  banks, 


190  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

may  not,  by  widening  and  deepening  the  channel, 
be  made  subservient  to  nobler  and  not  less  pure 
uses,  —  whether  the  same  vivacity,  compactness, 
and  power  that  enliven  the  social  circle,  and  fling 
a  charm  around  a  few  favored  lives,  may  not  gleam 
on  a  broader  sphere  with  no  diminished  lustre, 
soften  the  harsh  outline  of  some  unwelcome  truth 
into  grace  and  loveliness,  light  up  some  sombre 
picture  with  golden  tints,  polish  some  hidden  blade 
—  rusty,  disused,  and  rusty  because  disused  — 
into  Damascene  gleaming,  suppleness,  and  sharp- 
ness, and  restore  it  once  more  to  the  armory  of 
God,  —  and  lo  !  our  respected  friend,  who,  whilom, 
found  no  words  so  sweet  as  fitly  could  express  his 
love,  complacence,  interest  in  your  weal,  admira- 
tion of  your  character,  and  pride  in  your  reputa- 
tion, cools  suddenly  down  to  zero,  leans  leisurely 
back  in  his  comfortable  study-chair,  strokes  caress- 
ingly his  black  moustache,  and,  with  eyes  turned 
contemplatively  ceiHng-ward,  and  infinite  and  pity- 
ino;  forbearance  of  voice  and  manner :  "  Yes " 
(with  an  inflection  indicative  of  mental  and  sub- 
jective interrogation),  —  "yes  "  (falling  inflection; 
interrogation  not  satisfactorily  answered).  "  You 
may  be  able  to  effect  something.  There  are  very 
respectable  authors  among  women."  (Magnani- 
mous concession  !)  "  There  is  no  doubt  that  the 
thing  is  overdone.  Still  —  "  and  here,  or  a  min- 
ute after,  at  furthest,  he  will  cut  an  intellectual 
pirouette,  and,  with  a  most  frank,  arch,  and  en- 


MEN  AND   WOMEN.  191 

gaging  smile,  inform  you  that,  after  all,  he  would 
"  rather  see  a  ring  on  your  third  finger  than  an 
ink-spot  on  your  first."     Stupid  ! 

You  will  often  see  the  outcropping  of  this  feel- 
ing in  the  criticisms  of  women's  books  ;  not  that 
just  and  generous  criticism  which  discriminates 
between  the  evil  and  the  good,  condemns  the  one 
without  rancor,  and  applauds  the  other  without 
servility,  but  that  half-flattering,  half-contemptu- 
ous, and  wholly  contemptible  notice,  whose  com- 
passionate blame  and  condescending  praise  are 
alike  insulting.  Such  was  the  revenge  of  some 
of  our  sleek,  respectable,  self-admiring  male  writ- 
ers, when  Aurora  Leigh  dashed  in  upon  their 
fancied  security,  and  shivered  her  most  knightly 
yet  right  womanly  lance  against  their  time-hon- 
ored commonplaces.  What  a  shaking  of  the 
dry  bones  there  must  have  been,  indeed,  under 
the  hoofs  of  her  high-mettled  steed !  But  as 
soon  as  their  spirits  returned  to  them  again, 
they  fell  a-babbling  of  Socialism,  and  Fourier- 
ism,  and  Chartism,  and  "  all  the  others  that  end 
in"  ism;  and,  there  was  poetry  in  the  book,  hut 
there  was  a  deal  of  obscurity ;  and  there  was 
felicity  of  expression,  hut  there  was  occasional 
awkwardness  ;  and  there  were  a  great  many 
things,  hut  there  were  also  a  great  many  others  ; 
and,  on  the  whole,  Aurora  Leigh  must  be  pro- 
nounced a  failure.  Self-blinded  !  If  Aurora  Leigh 
be  a  woman's  failure,  what  would  a  woman's 
success  be? 


192  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

Sometimes  this  prejudice  takes  the  form  of  dis- 
interested counsel,  paternal  and  affectionate  ad- 
vice; but  through  the  lion's  skin,  the  long  ears 
reveal  indubitably  the  true  nature  of  the  animal. 
"  Aspiring  sisters,"  says  the  domestic  brute  before 
alluded  to,  "  why  is  the  tone  of  your  lucubrations 
always  so  mournful?  If  you  must  write,  write 
cheerfully.  Don't  let  every  song  be  a  dirge.  We 
want  to  be  amused  when  we  read  "  (there  is  the  ear 
again)  ;  "  consume  in  private  your  private  griefs." 
Not  a  doubt  of  it.  Beyond  cavil,  it  would  be 
vastly  agreeable  to  our  private  Neros,  —  Heaven 
be  praised  that  they  are  few,  I  know  that  there 
are  some,  —  who  harry  the  life  out  of  wife  and 
child,  who  are  tyrants  without  the  fear  of  assas- 
sination, because  their  victims  are  too  good,  or 
of  public  opinion,  because  the  thing  is  done  in  a 
comer,  or  of  the  law,  because  it  takes  no  cog- 
nizance of  soul-murder,  —  doubtless  it  would  be 
vastly  agreeable  to  them,  that  women  should  en- 
dure uncomplainingly.  No  voice  louder  than 
theirs  in  praise  of  her  sweet  self-abnegation  and 
silent  fortitude,  or  in  deprecation  of  publicly-dis- 
played sorrow,  when,  in  song  or  story,  the  minor 
key  of  sadness,  the  outburst  of  long-pent-up 
anguish,  or  the  unmistakable  wail  of  a  broken 
heart,  sends  home  to  their  own  breasts  the 
prophet's  stern  charge,  "  Thou  art  the  man." 
Consume  in  private  your  private  griefs !  No. 
Take   them  in  a  bundle,   and  bear  them  to  the 


MEN  AND   WOMEN.  193 

highest  mountain-top  ;  ring  the  church-hells,  hoist 
the  flags,  heat  the  drums,  and  let  the  whole  world 
see  the  bonfire  ;  and  if  the  flame  scorches  our 
sensitive  friends,  let  them  stand  back.  Why 
should  they  flutter  about  it,  if  they  don't  want 
their  wings   singed  ? 

Do  all  or  any  of  these  things  move  you  ?  Do 
you  fear  to  launch  your  bark  on  so  unquiet  a  sea  ? 
Do  you  shrink  from  the  lion  without,  lest  you 
should  be  slain  in  the  street  ?  Then  bv  all  means 
remain  within  doors,  and  hold  your  peace.  Do 
not  fancy  that  you  would  achieve  immortality,  if 
you  only  had  the  chance,  —  that  you  would  soar 
sunward,  if  your  wings  were  not  pinioned. 
Genius  is  expansive,  irresistible,  and  irresistibly 
expansive.  If  it  is  in  you,  no  cords  can  confine 
it.  A  good  book  will  get  itself  written.  Author- 
ship is  not  a  thing  to  be  quietly  chosen,  as  cir- 
cumstance may  determine.  It  chooses  you  ;  you 
do  not  choose  it.  Did  Mrs.  Browning  sit  down 
in  her  little  back  parlor,  and  wonder  whether  she 
would  better  fashion  a  song,  or  devote  herself  ex- 
clusively to  Robert's  shirts  and  stockings  ?  And, 
observing  that  she  had  facility  in  language,  fa- 
miliarity with  the  classics,  knowledge  of  human 
nature,  and  abundant  leisure,  did  she  forthwith 
seize  her  pen,  and  tell  us 

"  how  a  fairy  bride  from  Italy, 
With  smells  of  oleander  iu  her  hair, 
Was  coming  through  the  vines  "  ? 


194  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

I  trow  not.  I  rather  believe  that  her  spirit 
groaned,  being  burdened,  —  that  she  was  but  an 
unwilling  Sibyl,  lashed  on,  foaming,  by  a  fierce 
Apollo.  Currer  Bell  trod  in  agony  the  desolate 
heaths  of  Haworth,  till  the  consuming  fire  burned 
deep  scars  in  her  tortured  soul,  before  Jane  Eyre 
leaped,  full  armed,  not  from  her  throbbing  brain 
alone,  but  from  her  riven  heart. 

If  prejudice,  ignorance,  or  sloth  pile  a  Hill 
Difi[iculty  which  you  hesitate  to  scale  ;  if  indifl:er- 
ence,  neglect,  or  rebuff  quench  your  spirit's  flow ; 
if  encouragement  and  appreciation  must  be  the 
Aaron  and  Hur  on  either  side,  without  whose  aid 
your  failing  hands  droop,  nerveless  ;  if  you  fear 
to  speak  out  boldly  your  convictions  lest  you  for- 
feit approbation  ;  if  peace  and  smiles  and  sun- 
shine seem  to  you  more  desirable  than  truth ; 
if  you  are  not  in  and  of  yourself  sufficient  to 
yourself;  if  a  mind  conscious  of  rectitude,  of  up- 
right intentions,  and  honorable  performance,  is 
not  to  you  a  sufficient  guerdon,  —  you  may  be 

"  A  perfect  woman,  nobly  planned, 
To  warn,  to  comfort,  and  command," 

but  lyre  and  tripod  are  not  for  you.  The  world 
awards  its  meed  of  praise  to  no  uncertain  claimant. 
Only  to  him  that  hath  shall  be  given.  You  go 
out  on  a  mission  of  high  emprise,  with  scrip  and 
staff"  and  "  sandal  shoon,"  and  there  are  few  to 
say,  "  God  bless  you."  You  return  in  purple  and 
scarlet   and   fine   linen,  with   gilded   chariot   and 


MEN  AND    WOMEN  195 

horse  of  Arabia,  and  the  world  comes  out  to  meet 
you,  with  timbrels  and  dancing,  and  ministers 
unto  you  a  triumphal  entrance.  I  do  not  say  that 
this  is  wrong  ;  only  that  it  is.  You  must  conquer 
Fate,  before  Fate  will  bow  the  knee.  You  must 
prove  your  royal  blood,  before  you  can  wear  the 
royal  crown  ;  and  that  perhaps  so  late  that  it  will 
only  press,  cold  and  heavy,  on  aching  brows. 

Watchman  !  What  of  the  night  ?  The  morn- 
ing Cometh. 

It  is  not  for  the  generation  among  whom  Eliza- 
beth Browning  has  sung,  and  Charlotte  Bront^ 
spoken,  and  Harriet  Hosmer  chiselled,  and  Rosa 
Bonheur  painted,  and  Mary  Lyon  taught,  and 
Florence  Nightingale  lived,  to  despair  of  woman's 
achievement  of  her  highest  destiny.  In  whatever 
direction  you  choose  to  walk,  you  will  find  that 
a  firm  footfall  has  preceded  yours  ;  that  a  strong 
hand  has  hewed  down  the  giant  trees,  and  cleared 
away  the  tangled  undergrowth,  so  that  the  forest 
which  once  required  all  a  man's  strength  and  a 
woman's  fortitude,  a  child  may  thrid  unharmed. 
Thus  do  the  strong  bear  the  burdens  of  the  weak. 
Thus  have  noble  women  made  straight,  in  the 
desert,  a  highway  for  our  God.  "  Inasmuch  as 
ye  have  done  it  unto  one  of  the  least  of  these 
my  brethren,  ye  have  done  it  unto  me."  The 
costly  step  has  been  taken. 

But  let  us  not  suppose  that  generous  ends  can 
be  attained  only  on   the   mountain-top.      To  but 


196  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

few  is  strength  given  to  climb  its  ragged  sides, 
and  clearness  and  breadth  of  vision  to  take  in  the 
broad  svy^eep  of  its  low-lying  landscape.  Down  in 
the  valley  there  is  work  to  be  done,  —  humble,  yet 
divine  ;  small  in  the  germ,  yet  great  in  the  un- 
folding. However  simple  or  however  difficult, 
however  obscure  or  however  prominent  the  work 
may  be,  matters  not,  provided  it  be  God's  ap- 
pointed w^ork.  It  is  better  to  rule  a  household 
well,  than  a  kingdom  ill. 

"  Who  sweeps  a  room  as  to  God's  law, 
Makes  that  and  th'  action  fine." 

The  ring  on  a  child's  finger  is  as  perfect  a  circle 
as  the  zone  of  this  round  world.  The  Dairyman's 
Daughter  "just  knew,  and  knew  no  more,  her 
Bible  true,"  lived  out  her  brief  and  simple  life, 
and  was  not,  for  God  took  her.  But  from  her 
humble  island  home  her  voice  still  speaks  comfort 
and  hope  to  the  ends  of  the  earth. 

Here  and  there,  both  in  the  beaten  paths  and 
the  untrodden  ways,  on  the  lowlands  and  the  up- 
lands of  life,  I  meet  an  angel, — not  in  white  robes, 
garlanded  with  roses,  and  winged  for  Heaven,  but 
plain  in  calico,  it  may  be,  or  grand  in  velvet.  I 
recall  now  the  face  of  one  whose  life  is  to  me  a 
constant  gospel.  A  slight,  pale  girl,  orphaned, 
homeless,  neglected  by  those  who  should  have 
watched  her  young  years  tenderly,  she  yet  seems 
to  have  drawn  to  herself,  by  some  magnetic  power, 
all  the  good  of  all  the  persons  by  whom  she  has 


MEN  AND   WOMEN,  197 

been  surrounded,  and  to  have  fed  her  own  soul 
thereon.  She  went  to  school,  bearing  in  her  mean 
and  scanty  dress,  her  thin  cheeks,  and  hard  hands, 
the  marks  of  poverty  and  toil ;  and  wild,  thought- 
less, elegantly-dressed,  and  carefully-nurtured  girls 
hushed  their  heedless  sarcasm,  softened  their  merry 
voices,  and  spoke  to  her  with  love,  and  of  her  with 
tears.  Shrinkingly  sensitive  to  their  opinions, 
tremblingly  alive  to  her  own  disadvantages,  con- 
scious as  she  must  have  been  that  she  served  a 
hard  taskmaster,  no  word  of  complaint  ever  passed 
her  lips.  Always  cheerful,  modest,  happy,  willing 
to  be  pleased,  grateful  for  kindness,  and  patient 
of  any  chance  neglect,  you  might  have  supposed 
her  entirely  msensible  to  the  motives  and  feelings 
that  influence  ordinary  girls,  were  it  not  for  the 
occasional  quiver  of  the  lip,  the  quick,  nervous 
gesture,  the  moistened  eye,  and  faltering  tone. 
She  left  school  with  disease  lurking  in  her  system, 
slowly  and  surely  undermining  the  citadel  of  life ; 
but  she  kept  up  her  courage.  She  had  no  idea 
of  dying  till  her  hour  should  come,  and,  as  long 
as  she  should  live,  she  determined  that  her  liv- 
ing should  bring  forth  fruit.  She  earned  money 
enough  to  transport  herself  to  a  climate  which  was 
pronounced  favorable  to  her  health  ;  there,  in  wild 
backwoods,  among  a  rough  people,  who  had  forgot- 
ten, if  they  ever  knew,  the  common  refinements 
of  life,  she  opened  a  school.  From  her  rude  home 
she  wrote  merry  letters,  describing  her  adventures 


198  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

and  her  circumstances.  There  was  no  talk  of  self- 
denial,  the  greatness  of  sacrifice,  the  hardship  of 
missionary  life.  Over  all  the  harsh  outline,  and 
the  harsher  filling  in,  she  threw  the  veil  of  her 
playful  fancy,  and  few  heard  the  mournful  under- 
tone that  thrilled  through  the  gay,  sprightly  song. 
The  new  scenes  and  the  softer  air  did  not  have  the 
desired  effect,  and  a  short  time  since  she  wrote  to 
a  friend :  "  I  have  moved  from  a  small,  quiet 
school  to  a  large,  rollicking,  frolicking,  fun-loving 
one.  I  am  happy  ;  I  think  I  ought  to  be.  Every 
one  is  kind.  But  I  am  quite  puzzled.  I  don't 
know  just  what  to  do.  If  I  am  to  teach  much 
longer,  it  would  be  better  for  me  to  return  to 
New  England,  and  go  to  school  awhile.  I  have 
earned  enough  to  keep  me  at  school  a  year  or  so, 
and  I  do  believe  I  am  willing  to  exert  myself  to 
the  utmost  to  improve.  But,  then,  this  cough 
increases.  It  may  not  be  long  before  it  will  have 
an  end.  If  I  go  to  New  England,  I  may  spend 
all  the  life  left  me  in  acquiring  knowledge,  and  so 
lose  the  opportunity  for  usefulness  that  I  might 
have  if  I  remained  here.  Now  the  question  is, 
Which  will  bring  the  largest  pile  of  wood,  —  the 
dull  axe  for  six  hours,  or  the  sharp  one  for 
two?" 

This  is  what  I  mean  by  heroism.  This  young 
girl  standing  at  bay,  watching  what  she  believes 
to  be  the  approach  of  inevitable  death,  asking  for 
no  rest  from  toil,  no  indulgence  for  weakness  and 


MEN  AND   WOMEN.  199 

weariness,  no  sympathy  in  loneliness,  but  only 
striving  to  know  how  the  little  life  that  remains 
may  be  turned  to  the  best  account.  Brave  heart ! 
on  the  wings  of  this  soft  south-wind,  that  murmurs 
of  violets  in  the  ear  of  winter,  I  send  you  greeting. 
In  your  far-off  home  my  voice  may  never  reach 
you ;  but  if  by  any  chance  your  eyes  should  fall 
upon  these  words,  know  that  my  soul  does  will- 
ing homage  to  yours,  and  forgive  these  few  sen- 
tences, for  the  love  and  reverence  that  prompted 
them. 

"  None  but  thou  and  I  shall  know." 

I  remember  another,  a  stranger  in  a  strange 
land ;  an  exile  from  the  home  of  her  fathers ;  a 
fair-haired  and  blue-eyed  girl,  a  warm-hearted  and 
whole-souled  woman  ;  of  exquisite  sensibility,  re- 
fined taste,  and  elegant  culture  ;  a  lover  of  song 
and  grace  and  beauty  in  any  guise  ;  a  man  in 
strength,  a  martyr  in  endurance  ;  performing  a 
father's  duty  to  children  not  her  own ;  fighting 
the  battle  single-handed,  and  no  holiday  contest, 
but  a  life-and-death  struggle  with  the  wolf  at  the 
door ;  welcoming  the  cold  embrace  of  Duty  as 
smilingly  as  if  it  were  the  warm  clasp  of  Love ; 
eager  eyes  and  ears  wide  open  to  the  green  fields, 
the  upspringing  daisies,  the  note  of  bee  and  bird, 
yet  swerving  not  a  hair's  breadth  from  the  rocky 
path  which  her  aching  feet  most  resolutely  tread  ; 
and  where  I  see  her  footprints,  I  know  it  is  holy 
ground. 


200  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

And  yet  another  face  shines  on  me  througli  the 
night,  —  a  face  over  which  the  Angel  of  Sorrow 
has  swept  his  wing  in  passing,  and  saddened  into 
a  beauty  that  is  not  of  the  earth.  You,  look- 
ing, see  only  dark  eyes  that  flash  laughter,  love,  or 
tears ;  a  delicate  cheek,  that  pales  and  flushes  at 
your  words  ;  red  lips,  whence  drop  rare  gems  of 
wit  and  wisdom.  These  are  there,  and  I  see  them  ; 
but  beyond  these,  and  deeper  than  these,  I  see 
a  soul  that  has  been  weighed  in  the  balance  and 
not  found  wanting  ;  a  heart  that  has  been  wrung 
by  sorest  anguish,  and  only  grown  more  pitying 
and  tender;  a  hand  that  has  touched  every  note 
from  highest  to  lowest,  and  learned  to  strike  from 
earthly  chords  most  heavenly  harmonies ;  a  wo- 
man who  has  said  to  wealth  and  station  and  ease, 
"  Get  thee  behind  me !  "  and,  mailed  in  her  own 
integrity,  has  dared  opposing  fate.  It  is  these, 
and  such  as  these,  that 

"  show  us  how  divine  a  thing 
A  woman  may  be  made." 

They  redeem  their  sex  from  the  charge  of  frivol- 
ity, inanity,  and  feebleness,  revealing  to  us  the 
capacities  that  lie  hidden  in  her  heart  of  hearts  ; 
and  it  is  because  I  have  witnessed  such  noble  liv- 
ing, such  "  extraordinary,  generous  seeking,"  that 
I  believe  in  woman ;  and  when  I  see  life  going  to 
waste,  —  when  I  see  a  woman's  soul  bent  on  ig- 
noble ends,  frittered  away  on  trifling  toys,  finding 
content  and  happiness  in  things  that  perish  with 


MEN  AND   WOMEN.  201 

the  using,  —  I  feel,  not  contempt,  not  anger,  but 
sadness  and  sore  regret :  — 

"  The  pity  of  it,  Tago,  the  pity  of  it." 

I  mourn  for  gold  grown  dim,  and  fine  gold  changed, 
—  for  fields  white  to  harvest,  and  the  reapers  dis- 
porting among  flowers,  —  for  a  world  lying  in 
ignorance  and  wickedness,  and  the  power  that 
should  raise  and  redeem  it,  and  fit  it  once  more 
for  the  footsteps  of  its  Lord,  spending  its  strength 
for  naught. 

O,  if  this  latent  power  could  be  aroused  !  If 
woman  would  shake  off  this  slumber,  and  put  on 
her  strength,  her  beautiful  garments,  how  would 
she  go  forth  conquering  and  to  conquer,  —  how 
would  the  mountains  break  forth  into  singing,  and 
the  trees  of  the  field  clap  their  hands,  —  how  would 
our  sin-stained  earth  arise  and  shine,  her  light  be- 
ing come,  and  the  glory  of  the  Lord  being  risen 
upon  her ! 

One  cannot  do  the  world's  work  ;  but  one  can 
do  one's  work.  You  may  not  be  able  to  turn  the 
world  from  iniquity,  but  you  can  at  least  keep  the 
dust  and  rust  from  gathering  on  your  own  soul. 
If  you  cannot  be  directly  and  actively  engaged  in 
fighting  the  battle,  you  can  at  least  polish  your 
armor  and  sharpen  your  weapons,  to  strike  an 
effective  blow  when  the  hour  comes.  You  can 
stanch  the  blood  of  him  who  has  been  wounded  in 
the  fray,  —  bear  a  cup  of  cold  water  to  the  thirsty 
9* 


202  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

and  fainting,  —  give  help  to  the  conquered  and 
smiles  to  the  victor.  You  can  gather  from  the 
past  and  the  present  stores  of  wisdom,  so  that, 
when  the  future  demands  it,  you  may  bring  forth 
from  your  treasures  things  new  and  old.  What- 
ever of  bliss  the  Divinity  that  shapes  our  ends 
may  see  fit  to  withhold  from  you,  you  are  but 
very  little  lower  than  the  angels  so  long  as  you 
have  the 

"  Godlike  power  to  do,  —  the  godlike  aim  to  know." 

You  can  be  forming  habits  of  self-reliance,  sound 
judgment,  perseverance,  and  endurance,  which 
may  one  day  stand  you  in  good  stead.  You  can 
so  train  yourself  to  right  thinking  and  right  acting, 
that  uprightness  shall  be  your  nature,  truth  your 
impulse.  His  head  is  seldom  far  wrong  whose 
heart  is  always  right.  We  bow  down  to  mental 
greatness,  intellectual  strength,  and  they  are  Di- 
vine gifts  ;  but  moral  rectitude  is  stronger  than 
they.  It  is  irresistible,  —  always  in  the  end  trium- 
phant. There  is  in  goodness  a  penetrative  power 
that  nothincT  can  withstand.  Cunning:  and  malice 
melt  away  before  its  mild,  open,  steady  glance. 
Not  alone  on  the  fields  where  chivalry  charges  for 
laurels,  with  helmet  and  breastplate  and  lance  in 
rest,  can  the  true  knight  exultantly  exclaim, 

"  My  strength  is  as  the  strength  of  ten, 
Because  my  heart  is  pure," 

but  wherever  man  meets  man,  wherever  there  is 


MEN  AND   WOMEN.  203 

a  prize  to  be  won,  a  goal  to  be  reached.  Wealth 
and  rank  and  beauty  may  form  a  brilHant  setting  to 
the  diamond,  but  they  only  expose  more  nakedly 
the  false  glare  of  the  paste.  Only  when  the  king's 
daughter  is  all  glorious  within,  is  it  fitting  and 
proper  that  her  clothing  should  be  of  wrought 
gold. 

From  the  great  and  the  good  of  all  ages  rings 
out  the  same  monotone.  The  high-priest  of  na- 
ture, the  calm-eyed  poet  who  laid  his  heart  so 
close  to  hers  that  they  seemed  to  throb  in  one 
pulsation,  yet  whose  ear  was  always  open  to  the 
''  still  sad  music  of  humanity,"  has  given  us  the 
promise  of  his  life-long  wisdom  in  these  grand 
words :  — 

"  True  dignity  abides  with  him  alone 
Who,  in  the  silent  hour  of  inward  thought, 
Can  still  suspect  and  still  revere  himself." 

Through  the  din  of  twenty  rolling  centuries 
pierces  the  sharp,  stern  voice  of  the  brave  old 
Greek :  "  Let  every  man,  when  he  is  about  to 
do  a  wicked  action,  above  all  things  in  the  world 
stand  in  awe  of  himself,  and  dread  the  witness 
within  him."  All  greatness  and  all  glory,  all  that 
earth  has  to  give,  all  that  heaven  can  proffer,  lies 
within  the  reach  of  the  lowliest  as  well  as  the 
highest ;  for  He  who  spake  as  never  man  spake 
has  said  that  the  very  "  kingdom  of  God  is  within 
you." 

Born  to  such  an  inheritance,  will  you  wantonly 


204  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

cast  it  away  ?  With  such  a  goal  in  prospect,  will 
you  suffer  yourself  to  be  turned  aside  by  the 
sheen  and  shimmer  of  tinsel  fruit?  With  earth 
in  possession  and  heaven  in  reversion,  will  you 
go  sorrowing  and  downcast,  because  here  and  there 
a  pearl  or  ruby  fails  you  ?  Nay,  rather,  forget- 
ting those  things  which  are  behind,  and  reaching 
forth  unto  those  which  are  before,  press  forward. 
Discontent  and  murmuring  are  insidious  foes ; 
trample  them  under  your  feet.  Utter  no  com- 
plaint, whatever  betide ;  for  complaining  is  a  sign 
of  weakness.  If  your  trouble  can  be  helped,  help 
it ;  if  not,  bear  it.  You  can  be  whatever  you 
will  to  be.  Therefore,  form  and  accomplish  worthy 
purposes.  If  you  w^alk  alone,  let  it  be  with  no 
faltering  tread.     Show  to  an  incredulous  world 

"  How  grand  may  be  Life's  might, 
Without  Love's  circling  crown." 

Or  if  the  golden  thread  of  love  shine  athwart  the 
dusky  warp  of  duty,  if  other  hearts  depend  on 
yours  for  sustenance  and  strength,  give  to  them 
from  your  fulness  no  stinted  measure.  Let  the 
dew  of  your  kindness  fall  on  the  evil  and  the  good, 
on  the  just  and  on  the  unjust. 

Compass  happiness,  since  happiness  alone  is 
victory.  On  the  fragments  of  your  shattered  plans 
and  hopes  and  love,  on  the  heaped-up  ruins  of 
your  past,  rear  a  stately  palace,  whose  top  shall 
reach  unto   heaven,  whose   beauty  shall  gladden 


MEN  AND    WOMEN. 


205 


the  eyes  of  all  beholders,  whose  doors  shall  stand 
wide   open   to   receive   the  wayworn  and  weary. 
Life  is  a  burden,  but  it  is  imposed  by  God. 
What  you  make  of  it,  it  will  be  to  you, 
whether  a  millstone  about  your  neck, 
or  a  diadem  upon  your  brow. 
Take  it  up  bravely,   bear 
it    on    joyfully,    lay 
it    down    trium- 
phantly. 


My  Birds. 


TRICTLY  speaking,  I  haven't  any, — 
only  an  old  cage  thrust  away  up  gar- 
ret under  the  eaves,  —  nor,  in  fact,  do 
I  want  any.  Do  not,  however,  for  a 
moment  suppose  that  I  indulge  in  a  sentimental 
compassion  for  caged  birds,  for  I  don't.  I  con- 
sider such  a  thing  entirely  uncalled  for,  and  mis- 
placed. I  have  no  doubt  that  a  canary-bird,  with 
a  cup  of  seed  and  a  glass  of  water,  finds  every 
aspiration  of  his  soul  satisfied.  A  sorrow's  crown 
of  sorrow  is  remembering  happier  things.  He 
was  born  and  bred  in  a  cage,  and,  so  far  from 
being  discontented  with  a  restraint  of  which  he  is 
not  conscious,  freedom  would  bewilder  him  and 
bring  him  to  grief.  But,  though  I  do  not  take 
into  account  the  bird's  feelings,  I  do  mind  my 
own  ;  and  a  prisoned  bird  always  gives  me  a 
cramped,  asthmatic  sensation,  if  I  know  what 
cramp  and  asthma  are,  which  I  don't. 

My  birds,  the  birds    that  furnish   my  right   to 
that    possessive   pronoun,  are    the    little    darlings 


MY  BIRDS.  207 

which  this  moment  brighten  the  cold,  damp, 
clammy  spring  earth  with  their  flutter  and  chirp 
and  song,  —  little,  happy-hearted,  hollow-boned 
braves,  who  dare  untimely  frosts,  and  the  whirl- 
ing snow-wreaths  which  winter,  forced  to  leave, 
flings  spitefully  behind  him,  —  daring  the  long, 
cold,  dismal  rains  which  chill  to  the  heart  this 
sweet  May  month,  —  merry  messengers  of  the 
storm-king,  bearing  the  olive-leaf  of  peace  ;  twit- 
tering prophecies  of  summer ;  tender  little  bars 
struck  off  from  the  music  of  the  spheres  ;  faint, 
sweet  echoes,  in  their  wooing  and  winning,  their 
prudence  and  painstaking,  their  tender  protec- 
tion and  assiduous  provision,  of  the  strong,  care- 
ful, passionate,  loving  humanity  that  swells  and 
surges  beneath  them. 

I  love  birds  ;  I  do  not  mind  if  it  is  nothing 
but  a  hawk  or  a  crow,  or  a  sooty  little  chimney- 
swallow.  I  even  like  chickens  till  they  become 
hens  and  human.  I  cannot  look  with  indifference 
upon  turkeys  standing  out  forlorn  in  the  rain, 
too  senseless  to  think  of  going  in  for  shelter,  and 
so  taking  it  helplessly,  with  rounded  backs,  droop- 
ing heads,  dripping  feathers,  and  long,  bare,  red, 
miserable  legs,  quite  too  wretched  to  be  ridicu- 
lous. I  dote  on  goslings,  —  little  soft,  yellow, 
downy,  awkward  things,  waddling  around  with 
the  utmost  self-complacency,  landing  on  their 
backs  every  third  step,  and  kicking  spasmodi- 
cally till  they  are    set    right   side  up  with  care, 


208  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

when  they  resume  their  waddle  and  their  self- 
complacenej  as  if  nothing  in  the  world  had 
happened.  The  only  fault  one  can  find  with 
them  is,  that  they  will  grow  up ;  and  goslings 
grown  up  are  nothing  but  geese,  with  their 
naivete  degenerated  into  stupidity,  their  awk- 
wardness crystallized  into  vulgarity,  and  their 
tempers  unspeakably  bad.  But  the  little  birds 
that  sing  to  me  from  the  apple-trees,  and  hop 
about  on  the  sunny  southern  slope,  are  not  of 
these.  Purer  blood  runs  through  finer  veins. 
Golden  robins,  a  fiery  flash  of  splendor,  gleam  in 
the  long  grass,  and  put  the  dandelions  to  shame. 
There  are  magnificent  bluebirds,  with  their  pale, 
unwinking  intensity  of  color;  and  homely  little 
redbreasts,  which  we  all  called  robins  when  we 
were  young,  and  invested  with  the  sanctity  of 
that  sweet,  ancestral  pity  which  has  given  them  a 
name  in  our  memory  and  a  place  In  our  hearts,  till 
somebody  must  needs  flare  up,  and  proclaim  that 
they  are  nothing  but  thrushes !  As  if  this  world 
were  in  a  general  way  such  an  Elysium  that  peo- 
ple can  afford  to  make  themselves  unnecessarily 
disagreeable.  If  there  is  any  one  thing  more 
than  another  that  is  an  unmitigated  abomination 
and  bore,  it  is  those  persons  who  are  always  set- 
ting you  right ;  who  find  their  delight  in  prick- 
ing your  little  silk  balloons  of  illusion  with  their 
detestable  pins  of  facts ;  who  are  always  bringing 
their    statistics    to   bear  upon  your  enthusiasms  ; 


MY  BIRDS.  209 

who  go  around  with  a  yardstick  and  a  quart- 
measure  to  give  you  the  cubic  contents  of  your 
rapture,  demonstrating  to  a  logical  certainty  that 
you  need  not  have  been  rapt  at  all ;  proving  by 
the  forty-seventh  proposition  of  the  first  book  of 
Euclid  that  spirits  disembodied  cannot  have  any 
influence  upon  spirits  embodied  ;  setting  up  that 
there  is  n't  any  Maelstrom  and  never  was,  —  that 
the  Aurora  Borealis  is  a  common  cloud  reflecting 
the  sunlight,  and  turning  the  terrible  ocean- 
waves  that  ran  mountain-high  when  you  were  a 
child  into  pitiful  horse-pond  shivers,  never  mount- 
ing above  the  tens.  As  for  me,  I  don't  be- 
lieve a  word  of  it.  I  believe  the  equatorial  line 
cuts  through  Africa  like  a  darning-needle,  that 
the  Atlantic  waves  would  drown  the  Himalayas 
if  they  could  get  at  them,  that  eclipses  are  caused 
by  the  beast  which  Orion  is  hunting  trying  to 
gulp  down  the  moon,  and  I  should  not  wonder 
if  the  earth  was  supported  on  the  back  of  a  great 
turtle,  which  hypothesis  has  at  least  the  advan- 
tage of  explaining  satisfactorily  why  it  is  that  we 
all  travel  heavenward  at  such  a  snail's  pace,  and 
founds  in  a  sympathetic  and  involuntary  attrac- 
tion the  aldermanic  weakness  for  turtle-soup. 
When  one  has  been  born  and  brought  up  in  an 
innocent  belief,  one  does  not  like  to  have  it  dis- 
turbed on  slight  grounds  ;  and  people  who  have 
an  insane  proclivity  to  propagandism  would  do 
well  to  go  to  heathendom,  where  they  will   find 


210  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

ample  room  and  verge  enough  in  overthrowing 
mischievous  opinions.  But  no  punishment  is  too 
severe  for  him  who  roots  up  a  thrill,  and  plants  in 
its  place  only  a  fact.  Suppose  it  is  a  fact,  what 
then  ?  Facts  are  not  necessarily  truth.  Facts 
are  often  local,  incidental,  deceptive.  But  a  thrill 
is  the  quiver  of  the  boundless,  fathomless  life  that 
underlies  humanity,  —  a  sign  and  a  symbol  of 
that  infinite  from  which  we  sprang,  and  towards 
which,  perforce,  we  tend.  Come  then,  my  robin 
redbreast  I  Never  shall  my  hand  rise  sacrilegious 
to  wrest  from  you  heraldic  honors.  Always 
shall  you  wear  an  aureole  of  that  golden  light 
that  glimmers  down  the  ages,  the  one  bright  spot 
in  a  dark  and  deathful  wood.  Always  shall  you 
sing  to  me  angels'  songs,  of  peace  on  earth,  good- 
will to  men. 

So  they  hop  through  the  May  mornings'  shade 
and  sun,  robins,  and  bluebirds,  and  dingy  little 
sparrows  as  thick  as  blackberries,  at  once  wild  and 
tame,  familiar  yet  shy,  tripping,  fluttering,  snatch- 
ing their  tiny  breakfasts,  cocking  their  saucy  heads 
as  if  listening  to  some  far-oflp  strain,  then,  moved 
by  a  sudden  impulse,  hopping  along  again  in  a 
fork-lightning  kind  of  way,  and  again  coming  to 
a  capricious  full  stop  and  silence,  with  momentary 
interludes  of  short,  quick,  silvery  jerks  of  head 
and  tail.  And,  as  they  sit  and  sing,  —  as  I  watch 
their  ceaseless  busyness,  their  social  twittering, 
their  energetic,  heart-whole  melody,  their  sudden 


MY  BIRDS.  211 

flights,  their  graceful  sweeps,  and  agile  darts,  — 
I  recognize  the  Pauline  title-deeds,  and,  having 
nothing,  yet  possessing  all  things,  I  say  in  deed 
and  in  truth,  "  My  birds." 

But  I  came  very  near  having  a  proprietary  right 
in  one  small  family  last  summer.  I  discovered  a 
ground-sparrow's  nest  just  on  the  overhanging 
edge  of  the  cornfield.  There  were  three  little 
eggs  in  it,  gray  and  mottled,  and  not  very  pretty. 
But  eggs  forerun  birds,  so  I  visited  it  regularly 
every  day  to  take  observations.  All  the  corn- 
people  were  sworn  not  to  disturb  it.  A  stick  was 
set  up  to  beacon-mark  the  plough  away  in  case 
of  momentary  forgetfulness  ;  and,  notwithstanding 
all  this  care  and  caution,  that  selfish,  cowardly 
old  mother-bird  took  a  panic,  shattered  my  hopes, 
and  went  away  leaving  her  helpless  egglets  to 
their  fate.  Their  fate  was  to  have  a  hole  bored 
through  them  from  stem  to  stern,  their  embryotic 
souls  blown  remorselessly  through  it,  and  then  be 
transported,  nest  and  all,  to  a  what-not  in  my 
room,  where  to  this  very  day  they  stand  looking 
seaward,  a  hollow  monument  of  the  heartlessness 
of  birds,  and  of  the  mournful  extent  to  which 
children  are  —  shall  I  say  it  ?  —  humbugged  by 
their  judicious  parents.  When  we  were  young, 
were  we  not  all  exhorted  to  be  very  pitiful  and 
of  tender  mercy  to  the  birds  ?  Was  it  not  rep- 
resented to  be  the  height  of  cruelty  to  plunder 
their  nests  ?     Were  not  pathetic  changes  rung  on 


212  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

tlie  depth  and  strength  of  their  domestic  affection  ? 
And  will  anybody  tell  me,  then,  why  this  unnat- 
ural sparrow  deserted  her  home,,  that  was  not  even 
threatened  ?  Domestic  affection  !  I  have  no  doubt 
the  story  was  originally  trumped  up  to  keep  us 
from  tearing  our  clothes  by  climbing  the  trees.  I 
have  come  to  the  conclusion  that,  though  birds 
may  take  on  airs  of  tenderness,  it  is  all  a  dainty 
acting.  They  have  no  rights  which  mankind  is 
bound  to  respect,  and  I  hereby  give  public  notice 
that  I  intend  for  the  future  to  rob  every  bird's-nest 
that  I  can  lay  my  hands  on. 

I  came  still  nearer  to  owning  birds  in  the  winter. 
A  pair  of  doves  —  pigeons,  some  people  call  them, 
with  perverted  taste,  but  pigeon  has  no  character. 
It  is  a  generic  name,  without  history  or  associa- 
tions. It  savors  of  gunning  and  game,  and  noth- 
ing else.  Dove  is  the  word,  bubbling  up  and 
boiling  over  with  the  sweetness  of  honeymoons. 
So  it  was  not  pigeons,  but  a  pair  of  brown  doves, 
that  began  to  make  nervous  raids  upon  our  back- 
yard when  the  frosts  began  to  whiten  and  blacken. 
They  were  old  acquaintances  of  mine.  Their 
summer  residence  had  been  under  the  roof  of  a 
barn  a  few  yards  off,  and  I  had  watched  the 
process  of  their  courtship  with  great  interest.  It 
had  not  run  smooth  at  all.  A  little  dove-cot  had 
been  constructed  under  the  eaves,  with  a  doorway 
and  platform  outside  for  the  accommodation  of 
any  solitary  who  might  desire  to  be  set  in  families, 


MY  BIRDS.  213 

and  I  was  startled  one  morning  by  a  succession  of 
strange,  angry,  guttural  sounds  proceeding  from 
tlie  barn.  I  went  out.  A  lively  scene  was  enact- 
ing upon  the  platform  under  the  eaves.  There 
sat  a  lady-bird  in  the  doorway,  and  there  were 
her  two  suitors  before  her,  putting  each  other  into  a 
terrible  passion.  Number  One  held  possession  of 
the  platform,  and  Number  Two  was  making  frantic 
efforts  to  carry  it  by  assault.  Number  One  strutted 
back  and  forth,  ruffling  his  feathers,  dilating  his 
throat,  and  swearing  frightfully  in  dove  dialect. 
Number  Two  was  calmer,  but  persistent  and  deter- 
mined. He  attacked  in  front  and  flank  and  rear. 
He  made  desperate  dashes  from  above.  Where- 
ever  Number  Two  planted  his  adventurous  foot, 
thither  Number  One  betook  himself  in  great  force, 
and  ousted  him.  If  Number  Two  stole  a  march, 
and  sidled  up  to  my  lady.  Number  One  made  a 
sortie  and  shoved  liim  off.  There  was  no  rest  for 
the  sole  of  his  foot  but  the  ridge-pole  of  the  neigh- 
boring corn-barn,  where  he  occasionally  alighted 
to  take  breath.  Evidently  both  were  very  plucky, 
very  much  in  love,  quite  conscious  that  they  were 
fighting  under  the  eye  of  their  mistress,  and  equally 
determined  never  to  show  the  white  feather.  She, 
most  gracious  lady,  all  this  while  preserved  an  im- 
perturbable and  thorough-bred  indifference.  I  have 
no  doubt  she  saw  every  ebb  and  flow  of  the  con- 
test, and  probably  had  her  own  preferences  about 
the  victory,  but  her  face  said  nothing  of  it.     Some- 


214  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

times  she  sat  immovable,  looking  far  out  into  the 
intense  inane,  as  if.  on  sublimer  thoughts  intent. 
Sometimes  she  would  rise,  arch  and  coquettish, 
jauntily  shake  out  her  plumage,  and  trip  lightly 
to  and  fro,  displaying  her  fine  face  and  figure  in 
the  most  bewilderingly  charming  attitudes.  This 
was  a  sure  signal  for  her  belligerent  lovers  to  fall 
to  with  renewed  and  indescribable  rancor.  Some- 
times she  gave  herself  up  to  a  fascinating  languor. 
The  silken  lids  would  creep  slowly  and  softly  over 
her  brilliant  eyes,  as  if  weariness  at  the  prolonga- 
tion of  a  struggle  in  which  she  was  so  little  in- 
terested had  positively  overpowered  her.  Long 
time  in  even  scale  the  battle  hung.  But  posses- 
sion is  nine  points  of  the  law  of  might,  as  well  as 
of  right.  Number  One  fought  under  the  im- 
mense advantage  of  being  on  the  spot,  and  able 
to  r('st  directly  after  one  round,  and  come  fresh 
to  the  next,  while  Number  Two  had  to  make  long 
journeys  between  each,  with  nothing  to  stand  on 
when  he  got  there.  Fighting  on  a  firm  footing 
is  nothing,  but  fighting  on  nothing  is  a  good  deal ; 
and  Number  Two  was  at  length  forced  to  desist, 
lea  vino;  the  fair  one  and  her  successful  admirer  to 
devote  themselves  to  the  pursuits  of  peace. 

Which  they  did  with  such  assiduity  that  for 
many  weeks  they  were  scarcely  visible  to  the 
naked  eye ;  but  if  Fate  led  any  to  the  vicinity  of 
the  barn  scaffold,  they  became  at  once  conscious 
of  a  mysterious  stir  and  bustle  and  flutter,  a  cer- 


MY  BIRDS.  215 

tain  sign  that  something  was  happening.  When 
the  fulness  of  time  was  come,  the  something  turned 
out,  or  rather  chipped  out,  to  be  two  httle  brown 
doves,  the  very  image  of  their  respected  parents. 
These  respected  parents  it  was  who,  impelled  by 
the  res  angustce  domi,  came  foraging  in  our  back- 
yard. I  determined  to  befriend  them,  to  attach 
them  to  me  as  far  as  possible.  They  surely  needed 
friendship  and  attachment  if  they  were  to  stand 
the  long,  cold  Northern  winter  that  was  setting 
in,  and  I  was  very  sure  that  I  should  be  extremely 
glad  of  some  little  life  to  keep  the  genial  current  of 
my  own  soul  from  freezing.  So  I  made  advances 
by  scattering  a  few  kernels  of  corn  on  the  porch- 
roof  under  my  chamber  window.  They  mounted 
the  shed-roof  and  eyed  it  longingly.  I  mounted 
the  window-seat  and  eyed  them.  They  wished 
they  dared,  but  they  did  n't.  They  were  evi- 
dently suspicious  of  masked  batteries  and  infer- 
nal machines.  Then  I  hid  behind  the  curtain. 
They  stepped  nearer.  No  appearance  of  hostility. 
Nearer  still.  All  quiet  along  the  Potomac.  A 
twitching  of  wings,  a  stretching  of  neck,  a  set- 
tling of  body  for  about  five  minutes,  and  down 
they  came  to  the  outmost  verg^  of  the  porch, 
balancing  themselves  on  the  wire  edge  just  one 
second,  and  immediately  flying  back,  alarmed  at 
their  own  temerity.  But  though  retreating  so 
precipitately,  that  one  onset  had  given  them  assur- 
ance, and  they   soon  returned,   stepping    daintily 


216  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

and  gingerly  along,  with  many  starts  and  tremors, 
to  where  the  corn  lay.  Then  they  became  ridicu- 
lous. They  would  shoot  at  a  kernel,  and  rush 
back  alarmed  at  the  noise  which  their  beaks  made 
ao;ainst  the  tin  roofino;.  The  least  breath  of 
wind,  the  buzzing  of  a  fly,  startled  them.  They 
gobbled  up  the  corn  in  a  perfect  hysteric  of  hurry, 
darting  about  twenty  times  at  a  single  kernel  be- 
fore they  could  get  possession  of  it.  I  don't  think 
they  were  very  skilful  at  best,  —  I  am  sure  I 
could  hit  better  than  that  if  I  were  a  dove ;  but 
they  were  in  great  trepidation  of  mind,  and  that 
is  not  favorable  to  accuracy  of  aim.  After  a 
few  days  they  became  reassured,  and  demon- 
strated their  confidence  by  bringing  their  young 
and  interesting  family  along  with  them.  Their 
family,  it  must  be  confessed,  were  not  difficult  to 
bring  ;  they  evinced  not  the  slightest  backward- 
ness. They  entered  into  the  spirit  of  it  at  once. 
They  appropriated  the  corn  with  the  most  self- 
confident  alacrity.  I  fed  them  regularly  twice  a 
day,  filching  their  meals  from  the  garret  without 
remorse.  The  corn  had  no  business  to  be  there  in 
the  first  place,  tolling  all  the  mice  in  the  neighbor- 
hood ;  and  I  reasoned  that  there  was  no  cause 
why  scores  of  mice  should  overflow  with  milk  and 
honey,  and  a  brood  of  doves  die  of  starvation.  So 
they  did  not,  and  so  daily  we  established  more 
amicable  and  more  intimate  relations.  Regularly 
every  morning,  at  about  eight  o'clock,  the  swoop 


MY  BIRDS.  217 

of  their  white  wino-s  cleft  the  frosty  air,  click, 
click,  click,  went  their  horny  little  toes  over  the 
tin  plating,  and  m  a  moment  their  little  round 
eyes  were  peering  in  through  the  window  as  they 
perched  upon  the  sill  outside.  (I  trust  there  is 
no  truth  in  the  doctrine  of  the  transmigration  of 
souls  !)  I  believe  they  formed  and  cherished  for 
me  a  real  affection,  —  something  quite  beyond  the 
loaf-and-fishy  attachment  of  the  general  animal 
race, —  something,  in  short,  sentimental  and  super- 
dovian ;  for,  after  they  had  been  abundantly  fed, 
they  still  sat  on  the  window-sill  from  morning  till 
late  in  the  afternoon.  Through  driving  sleet  and 
snow,  or  wrapped  in  the  winter  sunshine,  they 
held  their  post,  occasionally  hopping  down  upon 
the  roof  to  get  the  kinks  out  of  their  legs,  but  re- 
turning soon  to  take  up  their  old  position.  When 
I  spoke  to  them,  they  would  flutter,  and  wink, 
and  snap  their  eyes,  and  look  mightily  pleased.  If 
I  sat  by  the  other  window,  round  they  swept  to 
that,  nodding  and  cooing  a  "  Here  we  are ! " 

But  one  morning  —  woe  worth  the  day  !  —  I 
heard  a  noise  overhead,  a  wild,  violent,  muffled, 
murderous  noise  of  struggle  and  assault,  and  sud- 
denly down  past  my  window  floated  a  tiny  cloud 
of  white,  fleecy  feathers,  —  dripped  three  drops  of 
blood.  I  started  up,  suspicious  at  once  of  crime 
and  the  cat.  The  cat's  name  is  Moses,  —  a  treach- 
erous fellow,  striking  you  when  you  caress  him; 
a   totally  depraved  cat   by  nature,   choosing  evil 

10 


218  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

when  the  good  is  not  only  better,  but  sweeter ; 
turning  away  from  his  allotted  food  to  steal  what- 
ever he  can  lay  his  paws  and  claws  on  ;  a  quar- 
relsome fellow,  and  cowardly  withal,  attacking 
where  he  is  sure  of  success,  and  yowling  fright- 
fully where  he  is  not.  But  he  is  a  good  mouser, 
and  you  manage  about  cats  as  you  do  about  con- 
gressmen, generals,  and  other  public  officers.  If 
they  will  do  the  work  you  want  done,  and  do  it 
well,  you  have  to  take  them,  though  they  may 
abuse  their  wives,  tell  lies,  and  be  otherwise  abomi- 
nable. You  execrate  their  moral  character,  but 
you  need  their  special  ability,  and  you  use  it,  not 
indorsing  them  thereby.  So  we  tolerated  our  cat, 
because  he  would  not  tolerate  mice,  though  as  a 
cat  and  a  gentleman  he  could  never  be  introduced 
into  good  society.  The  garret  was  his  peculiar 
haunt.  There  lay  the  golden  corn  in  forty-thievic 
profusion.  Thither  came  the  mice  to  levy  black- 
mail for  themselves  and  their  little  ones,  and  there 
I  feared  my  tender  dove,  lured  by  the  tempting 
repast,  might  have  flown  through  the  open  window 
and  met  his  fate.  I  rushed  up  garret.  On  the 
floor  by  the  window  lay  a  clawful  of  wliite,  fleecy 
feathers,  clotted  with  blood.  Yes,  it  must  be,  but 
where  was  the  murderer?  I  called  to  Moses. 
The  echoes  alone  called  back  from  the  rafters.  I 
walked  up  and  down,  peering  behind  the  boxes 
and  the  barrels.  No  Moses,  no  dove.  Marvel- 
ling at  the  mystery,  I  turned  to  go,  and  encoun- 


MY  BIRDS.  219 

tered  the  gleam  of  two  green,  phosphorescent  eyes, 
glaring  at  me  through  the  darkness  under  an  old 
bed  in  the  corner.  I  went  near,  and  lifted  the 
corner  of  the  quilt.  There  lay  the  mother  dove 
on  her  back,  her  beautiful  white  and  brown  feath- 
ers dabbled  with  blood,  her  stiff,  pathetic  legs 
stretched  upwards  and  outwards,  her  bright  eyes 
closed,  her  fond  heart  still.  Over  her  stood  the 
fiend  Moses,  burning  his  fierce,  fiery  eyes  into  my 
soul ;  and  as  I  tarried  there,  bending  to  behold, 
with  my  two  hands  resting  on  my  two  knees,  pity- 
ing the  dove  and  confounding  the  cat,  a  snip  of  the- 
ology came  into  my  mind.  Let  not  envy  or  bigotry 
interpose  a  scornful  smile.  If  the  great  magician 
of  literature  could  see  tongues  in  the  trees,  books 
in  the  running  brooks,  and  sermons  in  stones,  may 
not  I,  who  am  indeed  no  magician,  but  a  humble 
little  page,  read  theology  in  a  cat's  eyes  ? 

I  desire  to  say  preliminarily  that  I  am  a  Calvin- 
ist.  I  say  it  because  the  Atlantic  Monthly  has 
been  in  sundry  quarters  suspected  of  a  certain  lean- 
ing the  other  way,  and  I  may  be  suspected  of  lean- 
ing with  it  out  of  an  ignoble  subserviency.  Not 
that  what  I  am  about  to  say  does  at  all  deviate 
from  the  right  line  of  Orthodoxy ;  but  "  liberal 
Christians  "  have  a  way  of  exercising  their  liberal- 
ity to  an  astonishing  extent  on  themselves.  When- 
ever I  give  out  anything  unusually  brilliant  in  the 
line  of  ethics  or  theology,  up  jumps  a  Unitarian, 
and  exclaims,  "  That  is  Unitarianism."     Whatso- 


220  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

ever  things  are  true,  whatsoever  things  are  honest, 
whatsoever  things  are  just,  whatsoever  things  are 
pure,  whatsoever  things  are  lovely,  whatsoever 
things  are  of  good  report,  if  there  be  any  virtue, 
and  if  there  be  any  praise,  —  all  the  grist  goes  to 
their  mill.  But  what  right  have  they,  I  should 
like  to  know,  to  monopolize  just  thinking  and  wise 
uttering?  Is  there  nothing  sensible,  philosophic, 
natural,  judicious,  cathoHc,  in  Orthodoxy?  Does 
every  good  gift  and  every  perfect  gift  come  from 
the  Gospel  according  to  Channing,  and  no  good 
thing  at  all  out  of  Emmons  ?  Do  not  the  "  Evan- 
gelical "  sometimes  drop  their  lines  into  the  great 
ocean  of  truth  and  get  a  nibble?  and  is  it  gen- 
erous or  liberal  for  the  un-Evangelical  to  snatch 
at  it?  Truth  belongs  to  him  who  recognizes  it. 
There  may  be  certain  points  not  held  in  common, 
but  they  are  few  when  compared  to  the  myriads 
which  are  the  inheritance  of  humanity,  and  which 
bind  men  together  in  golden  bands  of  brotherhood. 
In  this  rich,  unfenced  land,  one  may  make  perpetual 
forays,  and  draw  off  laden  with  spoil,  yet  trench  on 
no  man's  rights,  appropriate  no  man's  possessions. 

I  must  confess  that  the  Orthodox  are  only  too 
ready  to  play  into  their  opponents'  hands.  When 
the  latter  take  me  up,  the  former  drop  me  in- 
stantly. Instead  of  tightening  their  hold,  and  say- 
ing to  their  antagonists,  "  No,  you  don't !  Anti- 
christ is  not  going  to  pre-empt  all  the  sense  and 
sparkle  there  is  in  the  world.     We  have  right  and 


AIY  BIRDS.  221 

title  to  this,  and  we  mean  to  defend  it  against  all 
comers.  Go  and  raise  yonr  own  prodigies.  We 
want  ours  for  home  consumption," — they  take 
the  Unitarians'  word  for  it,  and  give  me  over  as  a 
reprobate  mind  concerning  the  faith.  They  have 
such  a  heresy-phobia,  that  heretics  have  only  to 
raise  the  cry,  "  Mad  dog  ! "  and  out  they  tumble 
with  broom-stick  and  shillalah  to  hunt  me  down, 
never  stopping  to  inquire  whether  I  am  only 
labelled  mad,  or  whether  I  do  indeed  foam  at  the 
mouth. 

What 's  in  a  name,  Miss  Capulet  ?  Everything, 
my  dear. 

But  for  all  this,  I  am  not  to  be  lured  or  fisti- 
cuffed away  from  the  faith  of  my  fathers.  A  Cal- 
vinist  I  was  born,  and  a  Calvinist  I  remain.  It 
does  occur  to  me  sometimes  that  I  should  like  to 
know  what  Calvinism  is  ;  but  that  is  not  essential. 
Whatever  it  is,  I  believe  in  it.  I  accept  its  points, 
all  five  of  them  ;  and  if  there  were  five  thousand  of 
them  I  should  accept  them  just  the  same.  Origi- 
nal •sin,  total  depravity,  natural  ability,  —  noth- 
ing is  too  hard  for  me.  I  follow  wherever  Calvin 
leads.  If  he  could  stand  it,  I  can.  Servetus  does 
not  stagger  me.  I  could  swallow  a  good  deal 
larger  camel  than  he  is,  and  not  make  faces.  I 
don't  believe,  in  the  first  place,  that  Calvin  burned 
Servetus,  and  if  he  did,  I  dare  say  Servetus  richly 
deserved  it.  Why  could  he  not  keep  still  ?  Why 
must  he  needs  jump  from  the  hot  water  of  Tou- 


222  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

louse  into  the  frying-pan  of  Basle  and  the  fire 
of  Geneva  ?  Why  could  he  not  content  himself 
with  being  a  doctor  and  killing  other  people,  in- 
stead of  turning  theologian  and  killing  himself? 
It  is  just  these  very  wilful,  pushing,  impracticable, 
one-idea  men  that  make  the  mischief  If  people 
would  only  eat  their  dinners  and  let  things  alone, 
there  would  be  no  trouble.  But  every  age  and 
country  has  its  pestilent  fellows,  who  are  never 
easy  unless  they  are  poking  into  somebody's  pet 
belief,  or  custom,  or  prejudice,  and  turning  the 
world  upside  down.  Only  the  nineteenth  century 
has  grown  squeamish  about  cauterizing  for  disease, 
and  so  lets  it  run  till  the  whole  head  is  sick  and 
the  whole  heart  faint.  Our  own  country  furnishes 
a  melancholy  example  of  this.  If  Hopkins  and 
Phillips  and  Beecher,  and  two  or  three  hundred 
more,  could  have  been  summarily  Servetized,  our 
friends  would  not  now  be  up  to  their  necks  in 
Southern  mud,  and  slaveholders  would  be  crack- 
ing their  whips  in  peace  over  our  heads  and  those 
.  of  their  negroes.  Moreover,  whatever  Servetus's 
opinions  deserved,  his  manners  certainly  merited 
the  stake  ;  and  I  wish  there  could  be  a  law  passed 
to-morrow,  that  everybody  who  does  not  try  to 
make  himself  agreeable,  everybody  who  is  arro- 
gant, or  surpercilious,  or  sneering,  or  biting,  or 
in  any  way  gratuitously  uncomfortable,  should  be 
toasted  on  a  gridiron  like  St.  Lawrence,  without 
even  the  privilege  of  turning  the  other  side  to  the 


MY  BIRDS.  223 

fire,  until  he  promises  to  mend  his  ways.  For  my 
part,  I  believe  I  would  about  as  soon  be  burnt  at 
the  stake  —  I  know  I  would  rather  be  consider- 
ably scorched  — as  come  in  contact  with  those  tre- 
mendous people  that  one  sees  occasionally  walk- 
ing up  and  down  the  earth,  seeking  whom  they 
may  devour. 

If  I  have  now  stated  my  position,  and  made  it 
sufficiently  clear  that  I  do  not  design  to  conceal  or 
assume  any  views  out  of  deference  to  any  institu- 
tion, I  will  return  to  my  muttons,  as  the  French 
say. 

It  chanced  to  me  once  to  overhear  a  company 
of  theologians  talking.  They  were  discussing  re- 
sponsibility, penalty,  and  such  things,  and,  as 
far  as  an  uninitiated  person  could  gather,  the  gist 
of  it  was  whether  babies  sinned  before  they  began, 
^r  not  till  afterwards.  The  thing  which  they  all 
evidently  agreed  upon  was,  that  beings  did  not 
have  moral  responsibility  till  they  had  moral  ideas, 
—  that  is,  till  they  knew  right  from  wrong.  This, 
I  am  sure,  all  must  agree  to.  But  as  I  stood 
steadfastly  gazing  at  that  cat,  I  went  a  step  be- 
yond, and  I  remembered  a  little  girl  whose  educa- 
tion had  advanced  to  the  degree  that  she  could 
make  feint  of  articulating  single  words,  but  was  in 
no  wise  equal  to  the  effort  of  stringing  two  words 
together.  This  tiny  maiden,  tempted  of  the  Devil, 
and  aided  and  abetted  thereby,  had  feloniously 
abstracted  a  lump  of  sugar  from  the  sugar-firkin, 


224  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

and  retired  behind  the  closet-door  to  enjoy  her 
prize.  There  she  was  overtaken  in  her  iniquity. 
Her  eyes  looked  up  to  see  her  mother's  eyes  fixed 
on  hers  ;  and  whoever  saw  the  shame  and  guilt 
and  remorse  that  settled  in  those  eyes,  and  spread 
over  that  three-cent-piece  of  a  face,  —  whoever, 
indeed,  saw  the  tiny  figure  smuggled  behind  the 
door,  or  felt  the  unwonted  silence  occasioned  by 
her  temporary  withdrawal  from  the  world,  —  could 
have  had  no  doubt  that  she  knew  in  the  half-inch 
depths  of  her  frail  little  heart  that  she  was  doing 
wrong.  Yet  how  far  was  she  morally  respon- 
sible ?  If  she  had  died  that  moment,  would  she  not 
have  gone  straight  up  to  the  arms  of  the  Christ  ? 
I  verily  believe  so.  And  looking  into  the  eyes  of 
Moses,  my  belief  found  confirmation  there ;  for 
Moses  exhibited  just  as  unmistakable  signs  of 
moral  ideas  as  did  Metty.  Both  took  what  they 
knew  they  had  no  right  to  take.  Metty's  mamma 
called  to  her,  and  Metty  did  not  reply,  though 
usually  both  feet  and  tongue  were  swift  to  meet 
that  voice.  I  called  "Moses !  "  and  silence  was 
my  only  response,  though  he  generally  leaped  with 
great  strides  to  the  stairs  the  moment  the  garret 
door  was  opened.  Metty  took  her  sugar  behind 
the  door  to  eat  it.  Moses  took  his  bird  under  the 
bed.  Metty  spoke  no  word  of  justification.  No 
more  did  Moses.  The  fact  I  believe  to  be,  that 
one  was  just  about  as  morally  responsible  as  the 
other ;  only  a  human  soul  is  grafted  on,  and  will 


MY  BIRDS.  225 

bud  and  blossom  from  the  little  girl's  animal  in- 
stincts, and  the  poor  old  cat  will  grope  along  for- 
ever through  his  blind  brute  life. 

But  he  shall  not  have  my  dove  to  sustain  him 
in  it,  I  said.  He  shall  not  crown  his  grievous 
transgression  with  festive  orgies.  He  shall  at 
least  suffer  the  torture  of  seeing  the  prize 
snatched  from  him  in  the  moment  of  victory. 
I  went  to  the  head  of  the  stairs  and  gave  a 
general  call  for  assistance.  Dr.  Sangrado  came. 
Dr.  Sangrado  said  at  once  that  he  should  pick 
the  dove  and  have  her  cooked.  I  turned  away 
in  disgust  without  opening  my  lips.  Moses's 
arrangement  was  but  ferocity.  Dr.  Sangrado's 
w^as  cannibalism.  He  did  pick  her,  and  brought 
me  the  wings,  —  two  spotless,  appealing  white 
wings.  One  is  laid  away,  the  other  is  tied  with 
a  pink  satin  ribbon  and  hangs  under  my  mantel- 
piece. If  you  should  mistake  it  for  an  ordinary, 
household  wing,  and  should  begin  to  sweep  up 
the  hearth  with  it,  you  would  experience  a  sud- 
den difficulty  of  respiration.  This  wing  is  only 
a  memento.  Occasionally,  I  apply  it  to  such 
aesthetic  uses  as  brushing  a  silk  cushion  or  a 
velvet  cover,  but  never  to  any  profaner  purposes. 

The  next  morning  I  was  rejoiced  to  hear  that 
Dr.  Sangrado,  having  prepared  his  victim  for  the 
vile  obsequies  which  he  designed,  had  hung  her 
in  the  cellar,  and  Moses,  prowling  around  as 
usual  in  search  of  prey,  had  got  at  the  bird  aud- 
io* o 


226  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

fared  sumptuosly.  As  concerning  Moses  against 
the  dove,  I  was  implacable  ;  but  as  concerning 
Dr.  Sangrado  against  Moses,  I  took  sides  with 
the  latter.  So,  though  I  would  have  preferred 
decent  interment  for  my  pet,  I  yet  felt  that  the 
Avorst  had  been  spared ;  the  king  had  come  to  his 
own  again,  and  I  was  content. 

For  one  day  the  widower  dove  looked  bewil- 
dered. Then  he  disappeared  for  three  days. 
Then  he  returned  jubilant  with  the  handsomest 
dark  slate-colored  mate  it  is  possible  to  conceive. 
Her  feathers  gleamed  and  glistened  in  the  sun, 
flashing  through  green  and  purple  and  pink,  daz- 
zling and  magnificent.  Then  I  saw  exemplified 
the  truth  of  the  old  adage : 

"  A  mother 's  a  mother  all  the  days  of  her  life ; 
A  father  's  a  father  till  he  gets  him  a  new  wife." 

The  two  young  doves  immediately  began  to  suffer 
an  unrelenting  persecution,  not  from  their  step- 
mother, but  from  their  father,  though  I  dare  say 
she  privately  egged  him  on.  He  determined  to 
drive  them  away.  He  chased  them  all  around 
the  edge  of  the  roof.  He  pecked  at  them  fu- 
riously when  they  came  for  food  as  aforetime. 
He  would  not  suffer  them  to  take  a  single  o:rain 
of  corn  in  peace,  while  the  Black  Princess  settled 
on  her  lees  and  waxed  fat.  His  unnatural  treat- 
ment at  length  effected  the  desired  object.  His 
persecuted  offspring  took  leave  of  him  forever,  the 
tawny  bride  reigned  triumphant,  and  he  basked 


MY  BIRDS.  227 

in  the  sunshine  of  unclouded  prosperity.  But  his 
dehght  was  short-lived.  Swift  justice  overtook 
liim.  His  beautiful  brunette  assumed  a  sudden 
pique  and  freak,  and  repulsed  him  severely.  Be- 
fore he  had  recovered  from  the  shock  of  aston- 
ishment, she  turned  his  discomfiture  into  annihi- 
lation by  introducing  a  new  actor  to  the  scene,  — 
a  handsome  stranger,  snow-white  and  resplendent. 
Both  set  themselves  remorselessly  to  work  against 
the  head  of  the  family.  The  chalice  which  he 
had  forced  upon  his  innocent  offspring  was  com- 
mended to  his  own  lips.  He  tasted  to  the  full  the 
bitterness  of  being  shoved  and  pecked  and  out- 
raged in  his  own  home,  till  he  fled,  a  broken- 
hearted bird,  from  his  violated  hearth.  I  should 
have  pitied  him  if  his  previous  ill-behavior  had 
not  alienated  from  him  the  sympathy  of  all  vir- 
tuous people.  As  it  was,  I  confess  to  a  grim  sat- 
isfaction in  the  cruel  chagrin  which  must  have 
torn  his  bosom  as  he  sat  on  the  ridge-pole  of  the 
barn,  contemplating  the  ruin  of  his  domestic  hap- 
piness, while  his  faithless  bride  and  her  new  com- 
panion made  love  to  each  other  on  my  window- 
sill  in  full  view.  And  it  is  surprising  to  see  how 
much  love  birds  can  make  when  they  set  about 
it.  They  actually  kissed!  I  should  not  stippose 
there  could  be  much  pleasure  in  it.  Two  ten- 
penny  nails-  might  as  well  attempt  caresses,  but 
they  seemed  to  enjoy  it.  They  ran  the  sharp 
points   of  their  hard  bills  over  and  around  each 


228  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

other's  bills,  and  buried  their  noses  in  each  other's 
feathers,  and  cooed  and  simpered,  as  fond  and 
silly  as  you  please.  Perhaps  it  is  this  demon- 
strativeness  that  has  made  "  dove  "  a  term  of  en- 
dearment, but  I  suspect  there  may  be  a  good  deal 
more  in  that  application  of  it  than  comes  to  the 
surface  at  once.  My  observations  have  led  me 
to  conclude  that  doves  are  of  a  decidedly  quarrel- 
some disposition,  capable  of  developing  into  vira- 
goes, termagants,  and  downright  scolds.  Also 
their  tenderness,  though  laid  on  pretty  thick  while 
it  lasts,  very  soon  gives  out.  Has  not  some  close 
observer,  a  little  cynical,  perhaps,  given  the  word 
its  erotic  turn  as  a  delicate  but  sharp  satire  ? 

Since  the  spring  has  come,  my  doves  have  jflown. 
I  neglected  to  feed  them  one  day,  and  they  left  me. 
When  I  have  been  from  home  a  week  at  a  time 
they  never  seemed  to  mind  it,  but  frequented  me 
as  usual  on  my  return.  I  suppose  my  offence  lay 
in  being  at  home  and  not  feeding  them ;  and  as 
the  mild  weather  and  the  resurrection  of  insect- 
life  made  it  practicable  for  them  to  gratify  their 
resentment,  they  concluded  to  do  so. 

I  am  consoled  for  their  absence  by  the  advent 
of  those  delicious  little  beings,  those  true  fairies  of 
the  air,  those  tiny  marvels  of  creative  power,  — 
the  protest  of  this  new  world  against  the  Trans- 
atlantic notion  that  its  grandeur  is  not  exalted  by 
a  corresponding  finish,  —  humming-birds.  A  pa- 
per of  round,   black,  microscopic  seeds,   labelled 


MY  BIRDS.  229 

"humming-bird  balm,"   sent  me  by  an  honored 
and  valued  friend,  who,  amid  the  stern  duties  of 
life  finds  time  for  its  small,  sweet  courtesies,  was 
sown  in  the  fall,  ripened  through  the  frosts  and 
snows,  and  sprang  up  with  the  spring  into  green 
and  flowery  strength.     Attracted  by  some  myste- 
rious influence,  the  little  birdlets  come  flying  from 
east  and  west  and  north  and  south.     I  hear  their 
lively  chirp  in  the  warm  morning.     On  they  dart 
with  rapid  flight,  —  their  forked   tails  fluttering, 
their  black  eyes  sparkling,  their  black  bills  aiming 
straight  ahead,  their  brown  wings  deepening  into 
royal  purple,  their  glossy  backs  gleaming  out  a 
golden-green  splendor,  their  breasts  and   throats 
now  dazzling  me  with  ruby  fire,  now  throbbing  like 
molten  gold,  changing  from  intense  black  to  burn- 
ing orange  and  fiery  crimson,  the  brilliant  scales 
instinct  with  glowing  life,  —  more  beautiful  than 
tongue  can  tell.     Now  he  poises  himself,  a  quiver- 
ing, shining  mist,  above  the  balm.     Now  he  thrusts 
his  slender  tongue  into  the  flower-cup,  and  rifles 
its   hidden  honey.     And   now   I  see   indeed 
the   force    of  Sidney  Smith's  advice  to 
women  to  give  a  kiss  as  a  hum- 
ming-bird runs  his  bill  into 
a    honey  -  suckle,  — 
deep,   but  deli- 
cate. 


Tommy. 


OMETIMES  when  I  am  sitting  in  my 
room,  I  hear  a  prolonged  "  g-a-a-h !  " 
Then  I  know  that  Tommy  is  out. 
Tommy  has  escaped  from  his  keepers, 
and  is  pursuing  his  investigations  in  the  world  at 
large.  So  I  go  to  the  window,  and  a  pink  gleam 
flashes  up  from  the  grass,  and  there,  sure  enough, 
is  Tommy,  climbing  up  toward  the  house  with 
slow,  tottering,  uncertain  steps,  but  with  a  face 
indicative  of  a  desperate  resolve  to  get  somewhere, 
and  with  both  arms  acting  as  balancing-poles. 
Then  I  call  out,  ''ffulAol  little  Tom-mee/"  and 
everything  changes.  The  arms  drop,  the  feet 
stop,  the  resolution  fades  out  of  his  face.  He 
looks  blankly  towards  all  points  of  the  compass, 
and  when  finally  his  eyes  alight  on  me,  what  a 
smile !  An  ordinary  curve  of  his  generous,  Irish 
lips  does  n't  seem  at  all  adequate  to  his  feelings. 
He  smiles  latitudinally  and  longitudinally,  —  away 
round  towards  the  back  of  his  head,  up  to  his 
nose,  and  down  into  his  chin.     Out  goes  his  right 


TOMMY.  231 

arm  as  far  as  it  can  stretch,  with  the  fat  fore- 
finger extended  towards  me,  and  a  more  intense 
"g-a-a-h!"  bursts  from  the  Mttle  throat.  Then, 
with  renewed  energy,  he  resumes  his  travels.  He 
does  very  well  so  long  as  the  ascent  is  gradual, 
but  when  it  becomes  abrupt,  his  troubles  begin. 
It  is  n't  the  tumbling  down,  however,  that  hurts 
him.  Like  all  the  rest  of  us,  he  can  do  that  very 
easily,  but  it  is  the  getting  up  again  that  plays 
the  mischief.  He  rears  himself  on  his  toes  and 
fingers,  and  there  he  stands,  a  round-backed  little 
quadruped,  utterly  at  a  loss  what  to  do  next ; 
for  Tommy  does  not  yet  understand  the  use  of 
his  knees.  If  he  thinks  I  am  looking  at  him,  he 
will  stand  there  and  squeal  till  he  becomes  con- 
vinced that  I  have  gone  away  and  left  him  to  his 
own  resources,  which  I  generally  do ;  when  he 
drops,  or  rolls,  or  wriggles  along,  in  some  illegal 
and  unatomical  way,  and  at  last  stands  radiant 
in  the  porch.  Then  he  steers  straightway  to  the 
side-lights.  Those  side-lights  are  an  unfailing 
source  of  admiring  wonder.  If  somebody  is  on 
the  opposite  side  to  play  bo-peep,  he  is  ecstatic. 
If  nobody  is  there,  he  is  calmly  blissful. 

Tommy  is  a  great  nuisance  during  the  "fall 
cleaning."  He  is  always  getting  into  the  soap- 
suds and  hot-water  generally.  I  volunteered  once 
to  take  charge  of  him.  I  was  going  to  tack  down 
a  carpet.  Tommy  looked  on  in  amazement.  Then 
he  got  down  on  the  floor,  and  tried  to  take  the 


232  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

tacks  in  his  soft  fingers.  I  rapped  the  soft  fingers 
with  my  carpet-hammer.  He  gave  one  yell,  and 
drew  them  back.  I  kept  on  with  my  work.  In 
a  minute,  the  soft  fingers  were  creeping  in  among 
the  tacks.  Another  rap,  another  yell,  another 
creep,  —  rap  !  yell !  creep,  —  till  I  grew  tired  of 
rapping,  if  he  did  not  of  being  rapped.  I  suppose 
I  did  n't  hit  quite  hard  enough,  but  one  does  n't 
like  to  take  liberties  with  other  people's  babies. 
Then  I  took  hold  of  him  by  the  back  of  his  frock 
with  one  hand,  carried  him,  with  head  and  feet 
hanging,  to  the  farthest  side  of  the  room,  and  de- 
posited him  in  a  corner.  I  had  hardly  driven  one 
tack  in,  before  the  little  rascal  was  rounding  up 
his  back  again  under  my  very  eyes.  I  gathered 
him  up  once  more,  and  dumped  him  in  the  corner 
as  before.  Evidently  it  was  fine  fun  for  him. 
Nothing  could  exceed  the  alacrity  with  which  he 
crawled  over  to  me.  In  despair,  I  at  length  put 
up  the  tacks,  and  proceeded  to  arrange  some  cur- 
tain-fixtures. Tommy  was  suspiciously  still  for 
several  minutes,  and  when  I  went  to  ascertain  the 
cause,  I  found  he  had  got  a  biicket  of  sea-sand 
that  had  been  left  in  the  room,  had  emptied  it  on 
the  carpet,  and  was  flinging  it  about  in  royal  style. 
I  regretted  to  stop  his  enjoyment,  for  I  have  a 
fondness  for  sand  myself,  but  it  did  not  seem  to 
be  appropriate  under  the  circumstances,  and  I 
scooped  it  up  as  well  as  I  could,  and  put  it  beyond 
his  reach.     The  next  time  I  looked  at  him,  which 


TOMMY.  233 

was  in  about  a  quarter  of  a  minute,  lie  was  exert- 
ing himself  to  the  utmost  in  pushing  a  large  pitcher 
off  the  lower  part  of  the  wash-hand-stand.  I 
caught  it  just  as  it  was  toppling  over  the  brink, 
and  before  I  could  get  that  out  of  harm's  way, 
he  had  tumbled  a  writing-desk  out  of  a  chair,  scat- 
tering pens,  ink,  and  paper  in  all  directions.  I 
saw  at  once  that,  if  I  was  goino;  to  take  care  of 
Tommy,  I  must  "  give  my  mind  to  it."  I  took 
him  into  the  kitchen,  as  the  place  best  prepared 
to  resist  his  incursions.  He  struck  a  bee-line  for 
the  stove,  and  covered  himself  with  crock.  I 
could  n't  undertake  to  wash  him,  but  I  mopped 
him  up  a  little,  put  on  his  hat,  and  took  him  out 
to  walk.  Everything  went  on  blithely  till  I 
turned  to  go  home,  then  he  raised  the  standard 
of  rebellion.  Tommy  seldom  cries,  but  he  has  a 
gamut  of  most  surprising  squeals  at  his  command. 
On  the  present  occasion,  he  exhibited  them  in 
wonderful  variety,  and  with  remarkable  compass 
of  sound.  I  might  say  every  step  was  a  squeal. 
The  neighborhood  rushed  to  the  windows,  not 
unreasonably  fearing  a  repetition  of  the  "babes 
in  the  wood."  I  covered  his  eyes,  and  swung 
him  around  rapidly  three  or  four  times,  to  be- 
wilder him  so  that  he  should  not  know  which  way 
he  was  going.  But  Tommy  was  too  old  a  bird 
to  be  caught  by  such  chaflp.  He  pulled  backward, 
sidewise,  every  way  but  the  way  he  ought  to 
have  pulled.     I  sat  down  on  the  root  of  an  old 


234  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

elm-tree,  and  gazed  at  him  in  silent  despair.  He 
smiled  back  at  me  serene  as  a  summer  morning, 
but  the  moment  I  showed  symptoms  of  starting, 
he  showed  symptoms  of  squealing,  till  at  length 
I  conquered  my  compunctions,  took  him  up  in 
my  arms,  crock  and  all,  and  carried  him  home. 

Tommy  has  a  little  black  kitten,  and  the  un- 
derstanding between  them  is  w^onderful  to  see. 
Whenever  you  see  Tommy's  pink  dress,  you  may 
be  sure  the  kitty's  glossy  fur  is  not  far  off;  and 
she  whisks  around  him,  and  tantalizes  him  in  the 
most  provoking  manner.  Sometimes  they  both 
run  a  steeple-chase  after  her  tail ;  kitty  is  too  wise, 
by  far,  to  let  anything  so  valuable  as  her  tail  get 
into  the  clutch  of  those  undiscriminating  fingers ; 
but  she  frisks  and  gambols  around  him  delight- 
fully, and  Tommy  turns,  too,  as  fast  as  he  can, 
and  does  n't  know  that  the  flashing  tail  is  never 
to  be  got  hold  of  by  him.  It  is  surprising  how 
slowly  children  develop  compared  with  other  ani- 
mals. Tommy's  kitten  is  a  good  deal  younger 
than  he,  yet  she  makes  nothing  of  climbing  up  to 
the  ridge-pole  of  the  barn  after  the  doves,  which 
she  never  catches,  or  scudding  up  the  tall  cherry- 
tree  and  peeping  down  at  Tommy  from  the  upper 
branches.     I  believe  she  does  it  to  excite  his  envy. 

Tommy  is  intimate  only  with  the  kitten,  but  he 
makes  friends  with  the  chickens,  and  cultivates  the 
acquaintance  of  the  pig  by  throwing  the  clothes- 
pins over  in  his  pen.     An  old  rooster,  nearly  as 


TOMMY.  235 

tall  as  himself,  seems  to  have  attracted  his  especial 
regard.  His  efforts  to  catch  him  are  persistent, 
though  as  yet  unsuccessful.  He  evidently  has 
perfect  faith  in  his  ultimate  success,  however, 
and  every  time  Rooster  heaves  in  sight.  Tommy 
makes  a  lurch  after  him  with  both  arms  extended. 
Rooster  understands  perfectly  how  matters  stand, 
and  preserves  a  dignified  composure  till  Tommy 
gets  within  a  foot  of  him,  when  he  leisurely  with- 
draws. Tommy  stops  a  moment,  takes  a  survey, 
and  goes  at  it  again. 

The  days,  and  the  weeks,  and  the  months  pass 
on,  and  Tommy's  rich  Irish  blood  ripens  in  the 
summer  sunshine.  His  tottering  legs  grow  firmer. 
His  dimpled  arms  forebode  strength.  As  I  sit  at 
my  window,  I  see  the  apple-trees  in  the  orchard 
grow  white  with  bloom,  and  under  them  my  best 
silk  umbrella  is  marching  about,  as  the  courts  say, 
without  any  visible  means  of  support.  While  I 
gaze  in  astonishment,  it  suddenly  gives  a  lurch, 
and  reveals  Tommy  under  its  capacious  dome  in  a 
seventh  heaven  of  ecstasy.  Or  I  am  startled, 
while  sitting  alone  in  the  warm  afternoon,  by  see- 
ing a  blue  eye,  just  a  naked,  human  eye,  peering 
in  throuiih  the  lowest  chink  of  a  closed  blind 
opening  on  the  porch.  It  turns  out  to  belong 
to  Tommy,  who,  by  standing  on  tiptoe  in  the 
porch,  can  just  get  one  eye  in  range.  Now  I  see 
him  trotting  down  the  lane  alone,  clad  in  a  gay 
scarlet  frock,  et  prceterea  nihil,  his  fat  little  ^^g^S^^. 

£r^'^     Oif   THE  ^ 


(TJiriVEESin 


236  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

brown  with  dirt,  his  white  neck,  face,  and  arms 
mottled  with  the  same,  and  his  curly  hair  a  jungle. 
From  his  abstracted  and  eager  manner,  I  infer 
that  he  is  bent  on  some  grave  errand.  "  Where 
going,  Tommy  ?  "  I  call,  suspicious  of  a  secret  ex- 
pedition. "  0-gah-gi-bah  !  "  shouts  Tommy,  with- 
out slackening  his  pace.  Out  comes  his  mother, 
with  a  twig,  and  gives  chase.  Tommy  becomes 
cognizant  of  a  fire  in  the  rear,  and  his  eager  walk 
tumbles  into  a  trot,  for  he  feels  that  he  is  verily 
guilty,  and  knows  that  he  is  easily  accessible  ;  but 
fate  overtakes  him,  and  he  is  borne  ignominiously 
back.  Then  his  mother  explains  that  she  had  just 
been  trying  on  his  new  frock,  and  had  remarked 
that  she  must  get  some  buttons,  and  so  Tommy 
had  stolen  away,  and  was  going  "  over-shop-get- 
buttons." 

Accidents,  we  are  told,  will  happen  in  the  best 
of  families,  and  Tommy  awoke  one  morning  and 
found  that  his  nose  was  out  of  joint.  A  little, 
lumpy  baby  sister  had  sadly  deranged  the  machin- 
ery of  his  life,  and  he  did  n't  know  what  to  make 
of  it.  Formerly,  when  he  stole  out-doors  un- 
awares, his  pretty  young  mother  used  to  run  out 
after  him,  and  toss  him  up  in  her  stout,  bare  arms 
into  the  house.  Now  an  old  woman  in  a  cap  came, 
and  brought  her  hand  down  very  heavily  on  his 
sensitiveness.  Then,  too,  he  was  ousted  out  of  his 
cradle  by  the  interloper,  and  his  life  was  in  a  fair 
way  of  becoming  a  burden  to  him.     But  his  good- 


TOMMY.  237 

nature  never  failed.  To  be  sure,  he  would  throw 
the  plates,  and  the  flat-irons,  and  the  coal  into  the 
cradle,  but  it  was  probably  "  all  in  fun."  When 
I  went  in  to  see  "  the  baby,"  the  first  time,  he 
pointed  to  it  with  great  exultation, -and  as  soon 
as  the  blanket  was  rolled  down,  first  poked  his 
finger  into  her  eyes,  and  then,  quick  as  thought, 
gave  her  a  rousing  slap  on  the  cheek.  Baby 
screamed,  as  she  had  a  right  to  do,  and  Tommy 
had  the  slap  returned  with  compound  interest,  as 
he  richly  deserved. 

Yet,  in  senseless,  instinctive  fashion,  in  his  wild, 
Irish  way,  Tommy  loved  his  baby  sister.  The 
little  life  drooped  and  died  while  the  roses  were 
yet  in  bloom.  Tommy's  baby  sister  was  borne  to 
her  burial,  and  Tommy's  heart  was  troubled  with 
a  blind  fear.  What  it  was  he  did  not  know,  but 
something  was  wrong.  He  lingered  about  the 
cradle  where  she  lay,  and  when  the  tiny  form  was 
taken  up  to  be  placed  in  the  coffin,  he  plucked 
wildly  at  her  white  robe,  crying  bitterly,  and  re- 
fused to  be  comforted. 

Darling  little  Tommy  !  The  very  thought  of 
your  happy  face,  white  and  soft,  and  fine  as  a  lily- 
cup,  of  your  merry  blue  eyes,  with  their  long, 
curling,  black  eyelashes,  of  your  bungling  little 
feet,  and  your  meddlesome  little  fingers,  warms 
my  heart.  If  I  could  have  my  way,  you  should 
always  stay  just  as  you  are  now,  only  having  your 
face  washed  semi-occasionally.     But  I  cannot  have 


238  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

my  way,  and  you  will  by  and  by  run  to  school 
barefoot,  and  wear  blue  overalls,  and  smoke  bad 
tobacco  in  a  dingy  pipe,  and  carry  a  hod,  and  vote 
the  "  dimmocratic  ticket." 

So  I  said  l^st  year  with  foolish  human  prophecy, 
and  now,  behold  !  there  is  no  democratic  ticket 
to  vote,  and  there  is  no  Tommy  to  vote  it.  For 
Tommy  is  gone.  Never  any  more  while  I  live 
shall  the  gleam  of  his  shining  hair  light  up  the 
greensward,  or  the  irregular  thumping  of  his 
copper-toed  shoes  bring  music  to  my  ears  as  he 
stumbles  up  the  yard  and  clatters  across  the 
kitchen-floor.  A  dreamy  October  morning,  all 
gold  and  amethyst  with  the  haze  of  the  Indian 
summer,  took  him  beyond  my  sight  over  the  blue 
waters  to  the  fair  island  of  his  fathers,  which  has 
been  to  me  ever  since  a  "  summer  isle  of  Eden, 
lying  in  dark  purple  spheres  of  sea "  ;  and  it 
seemed  to  me  for  the  moment  that  nothing  would 
be  so  delightful,  nothing  looked  so  winning,  as 
to  leave  this  surging,  eager,  battling  land,  and 
sail  over  the  sea  with  Tommy,  and  live  quietly  in 
a  little  brown  cottage  on  the  border  of  Donegal 
bog,  with  a  well-burnt  pipe  in  the  cupboard,  plenty 
of  peat  on  the  fire,  potatoes  smoking  in  the  ashes, 
a  fine  fat  pig  in  the  corner,  and  nothing  to  be 
careful  or  troubled  about  all  the  days  of  my  life. 

While  I  grieve  for  Tommy  gone,  I  reflect  that 
he  would  probably  be  a  little  pest  if  he  had  stayed. 
Already  his  feet  were  swift  to  do  mischief.     His 


TOMMY.  239 

rosy  lips  could  swear  you  as  round  an  oath  as 
any  Flanders  soldiers,  and  he  beat  the  calf,  and 
chased  the  hens,  and  worried  the  sheep,  and  poked 
the  cow,  and  pulled  the  cat's  tail,  and  worked  the 
key  out  of  the  door  and  lost  it,  and  was  perpet- 
ually carrying  off  the  hoe,  and  making  the  gravel 
fly,  and  surreptitiously  possessing  himself  of  the 
whip.  Fumble,  rattle,  —  Tommy  is  at  the  door; 
creak,  creak,  —  he  has  got  it  open  ;  thump,  thump, 
thump,  —  he  is  making  for  the  whip  ;  silence,  — 
he  is  getting  it  down.  "  Tommy !  Tommy  !  don't 
touch  the  whip,  will  you  ?  "  "  No,"  says  Tommy, 
stoutly,  in  the  very  act  of  marching  off  with  it 
firmly  clasped  in  both  hands,  brandishing  it  right 
and  left,  and  whisking  every  living  thing,  and 
dead  ones  too,  that  caiiie  in  his  way,  or  that  did  n't, 
either,  for  that  matter. 

In  the  warm,  moonlight  evening.  Tommy  sits 
again  in  a  high  chair  in  the  porch,  and  his  mother 
tells  me  of  the  home  to  which  she  is  going  in  Ire- 
land, and  of  the  schools  which  Tommy  will  attend, 
and  the  books  that  he  will  study,  and  she  promises 
to  send  me  one  to  look  at,  but  I  greatly  fear  it  will 
never  reach  me.  As  the  conversation  proceeds,  I 
am  driven  into  a  corner,  and  forced  to  admit  that  I 
do  not  reckon  among  my  acquisitions  an  acquaint- 
ance with  the  Irish  language.  She  is  silent  for  a 
moment,  and  never  fails  in  the  politeness  of  her 
race ;  but  I  do  not  think  I  shall  ever  quite  recover 
the  ground  which  that  revelation  cost  me.     I  fear 


240     .  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

me  my  reputation  is  permanently  lowered.  Tom- 
my, climbing  in  and  out  of  his  high  chair,  up  his 
mother's  neck,  and  down  the  porch  steps,  wiggling 
everywhere,  and  clawing  everything,  takes  part  in 
the  pleasant  chat.  "  Where  are  you  going,  Thomas, 
by  and  by  ?  "  asks  his  mother,  designing  to  show 
his  paces.  "  Kitty,  kitty,"  gurgles  Tommy,  mak- 
ing a  dive  after  the  kitten.  "  Now,  Thomas,"  says 
she,  drawing  him  back  with  a  strong  arm,  ''  tell 
'em  where  you  're  going  next  month,  in  a  ship, 
you  know,  over  the  water."  "  Cow,"  says  Tom- 
my, perversely,  having  a  mortal  aversion  to  water, 
wholesale  and  retail.  But  I  know  a  quick  way  to 
his  tongue.  "Tommy,  tell  me  where  you  are 
going,  and  I  '11  give  you  a  sugar-plum."  "  Isle," 
says  he,  with  a  fine  brogue,  rapidly  coming  to  his 
senses.  "  An'  tell  'em  what  '11  your  gran'father 
be  sayin'  to  you,  when  he  sees  you."  A  pink  pep- 
permint in  my  hand  becoming  visible  to  the  naked 
eye,  he  answers  promptly,  "  Ye !  ga !  Tom !  wi ! 
ko !  yah !  bk !  "  which,  being  interpreted,  means, 
"  Here  comes  Tom  with  the  clock  on  his  back," 
referring  to  a  clock  which  is  to  be  carried  with 
them,  and  which  he  evidently  believes  will  be  his 
own  personal  luggage.  Sometimes  his  answer 
turns  into  "  Here 's  Tom,  coming  in  at  the  door !  " 
which  seems  to  me  to  indicate  a  decided  dramatic 
power.  "  Tommy,"  I  say,  pathetically,  "  I  am 
afraid  you  will  forget  all  about  me  when  you  go 
to  Ireland."     "  Iss,"  roars   Tommy,  backing  out 


TOMMY.  241 

from  under  his  chair.  "  But  I  want  you  not  to 
forget.  Stand  still,  now,  and  tell  me  what  my 
name  is."  "  Yah  !  "  shouts  Tommy,  jumping  up 
and  down.  "  Yah  what  ?  "  ''  Yah  Yah!  "  And 
even  when  the  last  morning  comes,  —  when  Tom- 
my, gay  with  scarlet  frock  and  feather,  and  "  bran 
new  "  shoes,  is  borne  in  his  mother's  arms  up  the 
steps  to  say  his  last  good -by,  —  the  hard-hearted 
little  pagan  is  utterly  unmoved  by  her  tears,  and 
only  jounces'  up  and  down,  and  cries,  "  Ride  I 
Horse  !  "  and,  in  virtue  of  a  doughnut  in  each  fist, 
marches  off  for  fatherland,  triumphant. 

But  Ireland  is  glorified  henceforth.  I  see  no 
more  there  want,  nor  squalor,  nor  suffering,  but 
verdurous  meadow-depths,  and  a  little  child  crowned 
with  myrtle  and  arbutus,  flinging  around  him  the 
crushed  wealth  of  daisy  and  primroses  and  gold 
cups,  while  his  upturned  face,  shining  against  th(* 
morning  sun,  is  as  it  were  the  face  of  an  angel. 

God  bless  the  Irish  !  I  cannot  choose  but  love 
them.  They  do  unearthly  things,  I  know,  and 
are  a  grief  of  heart  to  the  sorely-tried  housewives. 
One  whole  winter  did  Bridget  sweep  my  room, 
and  invariably  set  the  table  with  the  drawer  toward 
the  wall.  Never  by  any  mistake  did  it  happen  to 
come  right  side  out.  Patsy  had  a  way  of  swoop- 
ing up  all  the  contents  of  all  the  wash-hand-stands, 
in  her  regular  round  with  broom  and  duster,  and 
distributing  them  again  without  respect  of  persons. 
Accordingly,  your  own  stand  would  be  gawiished 
11  p 


242  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

with  the  tooth-brush  of  your  neighbor  on  the  right, 
the  nail-brush  of  your  neighbor  on  the  left,  the 
hair-brush  of  your  neighbor  above,  and  the  hat- 
brush  of  your  neighbor  below.  But  Patsy  is  a 
diamond  in  the  rough.  I  wrote  a  love-letter  for 
her  once.  She  came  to  me  beaming  with  ruddy 
shyness,  and,  after  backing  and  filling  for  fifteen 
minutes,  gave  me  to  understand  that  her  lover  was 
by  "  the  far  wash  of  Australasian  seas,"  and  would 
I  write  him  a  letter  for  her.  He  was  a  fond  swain, 
but  she  had  been  coy  and  coquettish,  and,  now 
that  he  was  so  far  away,  her  heart  relented.  Did 
I  write  to  him  ?  Of  course  I  did,  conjecturing,  to 
the  best  of  my  ability,  what  manner  of  document 
a  love-letter  should  be,  and  determinino;  that  at 
least  it  should  not  lack  the  quality  which  gives  it 
a  name.  So,  after  exhausting  my  own  vocabulary, 
I  had  recourse  to  the  poets,  and  quoted  Tennyson. 
It  smote  me  in  the  heart  to  look  up  when  I  had 
read  it  to  her,  and  see  her  beautiful  almond  eyes 
filled  with  tears  ;  for  though  one's  own  love-letters 
may  be  a  serious  enough  matter,  one  can  hardly 
voice ,  another's  tenderness  with  entire  good  faith. 
**  Oh  !  "  said  Patsy,  with  a  sigh  from  the  very  bot- 
tom of  her  warm  Irish  heart,  "  them  is  jes'  my 
feelin's,"  and  even  put  her  head  back  through  the 
door  after  going  out,  to  add,  "  An'  sure,  ye  must 
have  had  them  feelin's  yourself,  or  ye  niver  could 
have  done  it."  "Ah,  Patsy!"  I  said,  —  but 
never  mind  what  I  said. 


TOMMY.  '  24B 

God  bless  the  Irish  !  They  supply  an  element 
that  is  wanting  to  our  Anglo-Saxon  blood,  the 
easy,  eloquent,  picturesque  race.  Their  rest  is 
such  a  cushion  to  our  restlessness.  As  they  mount 
the  ladder,  their  individualities  lose  outline,  but 
an  Irish  poor  family  is  world-wide  from  an  Ameri- 
can poor  family.  The  Americans  will  be  so  sharp 
and  angular,  and  clearly  defined.  They  will  have 
such  an  air  of  having  seen  better  days,  and  not 
giving  up  seeing  them  again.  Their  poverty  is 
self-conscious,  and  draws  comparisons.  A  painful 
scrubbiness  is  in  the  air.  Everything  is  neat, 
whitewashed,  and  made  the  most  of.  Evidently 
they  are  struggling  against  fate.  They  contest 
every  inch  of  ground.  If  you  offer  them  assist- 
ance, you  must  double  and  turn,  and  ten  to  one 
give  mortal  offence  after  all.  I  know  these  are 
the  very  things  that  the  books  applaud,  and  I 
suppose  they  are  one  of  the  bases  of  greatness  ; 
but  for  solid  comfort,  give  me  an  Irish  shanty, 
where  all  are  dirty  and  happy  and  contented. 
For  the  spare,  stooping  American  mother,  with 
thin  hair,  pointed  elbows,  and  never  fewer  than 
forty  years,  you  have  the  Irish  matron,  always 
young, — red,  round  arms,  luxuriantly  full  figure, 
great  white  teeth,  head  set  back,  and  peerless  hair. 
You  are  received  with  nonchalant  courtesy,  and 
your  "  remainder  biscuit  "  with  graceful  gratitude. 
No  care  furrows  any  forehead.  If  the  baby  creeps 
into  the  ashes,  one  blacksmithy  arm   whips  him 


244:  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

out  again  as  good  as  new.  In  winter  the  air  is 
warm  with  the  mingled  odor  of  soapsuds,  boihng 
cabbage,  and  fragrant  tobacco.  In  the  summer 
they  set  their  wash-tubs  at  the  back  door,  and,  in 
a  sensible  scantiness  of  costume,  rub  to  the  robin's 
song,  and  never  seem  to  look  forward  to  a  pos- 
sible presidency.  They  float  across  the  tide  ac- 
quiescent.    Thus  poverty  is  robbed  of  its  sting. 

If  one  must  be  poor,  it  is  so  much  easier  to  be 
comfortable  about  it.  And  if  one  is  thoroughly 
comfortable,  what  matter  whether  one  lives  in  one 
room  or  twenty  ? 

God  bless  the  Irish  1  Their  strong  arms  are 
lifted,  their  warm  hearts  are  beating,  side  by  side 
with  ours,  for  the  honor  and  life  of  their  adopted 
country.  Does  famine  impend  over  their  island 
home  ?  We  have  enough  and  to  spare.  From 
our  bursting  granaries,  from  our  larders  over-full, 
let  their  tables  be  spread  with  plenty.  Surely  the 
bread,  the  few  crumbs  which  we  cast  upon  the 
waters,  many  days  ago,  are  already  returned  to 
us  in  Irish  truth  and  loyalty.  And  when  their 
civilization  and  Christianity  are  brought  abreast 
of  their  inborn  poetry,  Ireland  shall  come  forth 
fair  as  the  sun,  clear  as  the  moon,  and  terrible 
as  an  army  with  banners. 

Tommy,  Tommy,  I  am  loath  to  leave  you.  I 
do  not  see  how  you  can  possibly  grow  up  good ; 
but  your  angel,  always  beholding  the  face  of  our 
Father  which  is  in  heaven,  may  read  there  plans 


TOMMY. 


245 


of  love  which  my  dim  eyes  cannot  discern.     To 

God  I  commend  you.    Wherever  you  go,  the  Lord 

give  his  angels   charge  concerning  you,  to  keep 

you    in    all    your    vrays,    and    even    though 

you  worship  him  blindly,  with  bell  and 

incense    and    crucifix    and    rosary, 

may   he    none    the'  less    keep 

your  eyes  from  tears,  your 

feet  from  falling,  and 

your  soul  from 

death. 


Boston  and  Home  Again. 


i^NE  thing  there  is  in  the  world  which 
I  admire.  It  is  hlasS  people,  —  peo- 
ple, as  Curtis  expresses  it,  who  have 
pumped  life  dry,  and  the  pump  only 
wheezes,  —  people  who  are  not  interested  in  any- 
thing, —  people  who  have  gone  through  the  whole 
round  of  sensations,  and  have  the  satisfactory  con- 
sciousness of  having  nothing  more  to  feel,  —  peo- 
ple who  are  always  self-possessed,  never  thrown 
off  their  balance.  Attacked  from  any  quarter, 
they  are  ready.  There  is  the  English  Quarterly 
Reviewer.  He  has  all  things  under  his  feet.  He 
is  calmly  superior  to  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  so 
forth.  He  holds  in  his  hands  the  reins  of  the  uni- 
verse. He  embraces  the  whole  circle  of  knowl- 
edge. Nothing  ever  happens  to  which  he  cannot 
assign  its  true  cause  and  prophesy  its  remotest 
future.  He  knows  more  of  poetry  than  the  poet, 
more  of  art  than  the  artist,  more  of  history  than 
the  historian.  He  can  get  more  out  of  anything 
than  ever  was  in  it.     The  scanty  grains  of  infor- 


BOSTON  AND  HOME  AGAIN.  247 

mation  which  you  have  been  able  to  gather  by 
hard  digging  into  dictionaries  and  grammars,  and 
which  you  reserve  for  grand  occasions,  dwindle  to 
nothing  before  the  huge  boulders  of  learning  which 
he  scoops  up  and  tosses  about  with  his  finger-tips 
on  the  slightest  provocation.  But  the  seal  of  his 
royalty  is  the  air  of  quiet  superiority,  of  having 
been  born  to  it,  with  which  he  handles  his  re- 
sources, and,  awed  by  which,  you  abdicate  at 
once,  feeling  it  an  honor  to  be  tyrannized  over 
by  such  a  one.  But  this  is  a  remarkable  world 
in  many  respects,  and  in  none  more  so  than  in 
a  certain  organic  disjointedness.  Causes  do  not 
seem  to  produce  effects.  Sequences  are  arbitrary. 
There  is  general  law,  but  a  great  deal  of  special 
lawlessness.  You  lay  all  your  plans  to  accomplish 
an  object,  and  miss  of  it ;  while  the  good  that  you 
never  dream  of  obtainino;  comes  to  you  unsouo-lit. 
Machines  that  work  well  in  theory  will  not  work 
at  all  in  iron.  There  seems  to  be  no  reason  why 
the  stove  should  smoke,  but  it  does.  I  knew  a 
man  who,  at  twenty,  was  given  up  by  his  physi- 
cians. His  lungs  were  gone,  his  stomach  was 
going,  his  heart  was  capricious,  —  in  short,  all  his 
internal  apparatus  seemed  to  be  destroyed  or  de- 
ranged ;  it  is  plain  that,  under  such  circumstances, 
he  ouo-ht  to  have  died.  If  this  were  a  logical 
world,  he  would  have  died.  On  the  contrary, 
he  most  unreasonably  persisted  in  living,  and  is 
now,  at  forty,  roaming  over  Europe,  climbing  the 


248  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

Alps,  braving  the  Pontine  Marshes,  tampering  with 
Rhein  wine,  sauer-kraut,  and  all  manner  of  foreign 
edibles,  and  threatens  to  live  out  his  threescore 
years  and  ten,  unless  death  comes  to  him  from 
without.  Certainly,  there  is  a  hitch  in  the  world 
somewhere.  So,  though  I  would  give  any  reason- 
able sum  to  be  blase  and  au  fait  myself,  I  am  in 
fact  very  far  from  it.  I  often  become  bewildered 
in  cities.  I  lose  my  purse,  and  I  lose  my  way, 
and  I  almost  lose  my  senses.  I  admire,  and 
am  astonished.  I  like  to  look  in  at  shop  win- 
dows, to  see  a  monkey  capering  to  a  hand-organ, 
to  buy  fruit  of  old  women  crouching  at  the  cor- 
ners of  streets.  When  I  get  into  an  omnibus,  I 
never  can  remember  to  get  out  again,  and  once 
I  rode  from  Boston  to  Cambridge  three  times 
before  I  remembered  to  pull  the  strap  at  the'  place 
where  I  wanted  to  be  left.  I  like  to  be  in  a 
crowd,  if  I  am  not  in  a  hurry  (in  a  carriage,  —  I 
should  n't  like  to  be  on  foot,  and  have  all  sorts  of 
people  knocking  against  me),  and  see  the  feathers 
and  silks  trying  to  get  on,  and  can't,  and  men 
elbowing  through  by  the  skin  of  their  teeth,  and 
truckmen  shouting,  and  wheels  interlocking,  and 
horses  pawing,  and  timid  people  looking  scared. 
That  sounds  rather  malignant,  but  it  is  n't.  I 
would  not  scare  them  myself  for  the  sake  of  the 
fun ;  but  as  they  are  scared  independently  of  any 
effort  of  mine,  I  enjoy  it  simply  as  a  part  of  the 
pantomime.     Besides,  I  don't  see  any  use  in  being 


BOSTON  AND  HOME  AGAIN.  249 

frightened  in  such  a  case.  I  don't  expect  a  coach- 
man to  have  any  especial  regard  for  my  individual 
bones,  but  I  do  expect  him  to  have  a  regard  for  his 
own  reputation  as  a  coachman,  and  for  his  pocket, 
both  of  which  demand  that  he  should  not  upset  his 
coach  and  injure  his  passenger,  unless  circumstan- 
ces absolutely  require  it.  I  take  it  for  granted, 
also,  that  he  understands  his  business  a  great  deal 
better  than  I  do  ;  and  as  he  doesn't  fret  about 
my  writing,  I  won't  fret  about  his  driving  me 
through  a  crowd.  I  also  like,  in  passing  through 
streets,  to  count  the  windows,  and  see  how  many 
stories  the  shops  have.  I  like  to  talk  with  news- 
boys, and  rag-pickers,  and  the  little  beggar-girls, 
and  with  all  sorts  of  out-of-the-way  people.  It 
seems  to  take  you  into  another  world.  I  am  al- 
ways awed  in  the  presence  of  milliners  and  dress- 
makers. If  I  have  an  opinion  before  I  go  in,  it 
presents  itself  to  them  in  the  farm  of  the  meek- 
est and  timidest  suggestion,  and  melts  away  and 
evaporates  before  their  slightest  objection.  There 
is  something  in  their  art  perfectly  incomprehensible 
to  me.  I  can  understand  how  a  locomotive  engine 
or  a  sewincr-machine  can  be  made.  I  think  I  could 
make  one  myself,  if  I  were  educated  to  it,  and  had 
the  proper  tools  ;  for  a  ponderous  machine  cuts 
out  your  work  by  rule,  and  yoii  put  it  together, 
one  engine  just  like  another.  But  a  milliner  must 
have  creative  power.  She  must  conceive  an  idea 
of  every  bonnet  separately,  and  then,  from  a  wil- 
11* 


250  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

derness  of  silk  and  straw  and  lace  and  flowers,  she 
must  evoke  the  perfect  bonnet,  every  one  sepa- 
rately, and  every  one  adapted  to  the  figure,  com- 
plexion, and  character  of  every  separate  wearer,  — 
and  this  for  months  and  years  continuously. 

But  of  course  all  this  is  incompatible  with  that 
air  of  savoir  faire  which  is  at  once  my  admiration 
and  my  despair.  You  cannot  be  tranquilly  indif- 
ferent and  keenly  interested  at  the  same  time. 
And  how  can  one  go  up  from  the  country,  where 
the  quiet  is  a  perpetual  Sabbath,  into  the  city, 
where  life  whirls  in  ten  thousand  different  forms, 
and  not  be  interested,  —  and  not  show  it  ?  I  have 
had  opportunities  to  observe  my  sex  in  the  transi- 
tion state,  and  I  am  forced  to  say  that  I  dt  not 
think  the  female  traveller  is  always  a  pleasant  object 
of  contemplation.  She  is  never  quite  free  from 
anxiety  or  bundles,  and  is  generally  pretty  highly 
charged  with  botli.  She  asks  the  conductor  the 
same  question  twice,  as  if  she  believed  he  might 
undergo  a  moral  reformation  between  the  first  and 
second  asking,  and  tell  the  truth  at  last,  though  he 
told  a  lie  at  first.  Sweetly  patient  at  home,  sub- 
limely patient  in  great  pain  or  peril,  she  is  ludi- 
crously impatient  on  her  travels.  She  cannot  wait 
the  march  of  events,  but  outstrips  the  present,  an- 
ticipates the  future,  and  asks  the  conductor  '^  if  we 
change  cars  at  B."  Trustful  to  a  fault  in  the  do- 
mestic circle,  she  becomes  a  very  sceptic  in  the 
cars,  and  never  believes  him  unless  he  says  "  Yes.'* 


BOSTON  AND  HOME  AGAIN,  251 

When  he  announces  at  B.,  "  Passensiers  chanse 
cars  for  the  East,"  she  steps  out  with  alacrity  upon 
the  platform,  and  immediately  asks  him,  "  Do  we 
change  cars  Jiere?"  Acute  of  vision,  and  rapid  in 
perception  at  home,  abroad  a  glamour  seems  to  fall 
upon  her.  The  time-table  invariably  hangs  upon 
the  station-walls,  but,  as  if  incapable  of  calculation, 
she  hivariably  asks  the  ticket-master  at  what  hour 
the  train  is  due ;  and  if  it  is  five  minutes  late,  she 
goes  to  him  again,  and  asks  him  how  long  before 
it  will  arrive.  Of  course,  observing  the  inconse- 
quence of  these  and  similar  vagaries,  I  am  espe- 
cially careful  to  avoid  them.  You  will  presently 
see  how  I  succeed. 

I  will,  however,  say  this  in  extenuation,  that  no 
city  has  any  moral  right  to  be  as  crooked  as  Bos- 
ton. It  is  a  crookedness  without  excuse,  and 
without  palliation.  It  is  crooked  in  cold  blood, 
and  with  malice  aforethought.  It  goes  askew 
when  it  might  just  as  easily  go  straight.  It  is 
illogical,  inconsequent,  and  incoherent.  Nowhere 
leads  to  anywhere  in  particular.  You  start  from 
any  given  point,  and  you  are  just  as  likely  to  come 
out  at  one  place  as  another.  Of  course,  all  this  can 
but  have  an  effect  on  the  inhabitants.  Straight- 
forwardness becomes  impossible  where  you  are 
continually  pitching  up  against  sharp  points.  Peo- 
ple born  and  bred  in  angles,  and  blind  alleys,  and 
cross-ways,  cannot  fail  to  have  a  knack  at  ter- 
giversation and  intrigue.     Diplomatists  should  be 


252  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

chosen  from  Boston,  or  should  at  least  take  a  pre- 
paratory course  of  five  years  there,  as  soldiers  do 
at  West  Point. 

The  number  of  the  streets  is  amazing;.  The 
Bostonians  seem  to  have  a  perfect  frenzy  for  them. 
If  they  can  squeeze  in  a  six-foot  passage  between 
two  houses,  they  are  happy.  Half  a  dozen  stairs 
and  a  brick  platform  is  an  avenue  and  an  elysium. 
They  build  their  houses  in  the  shape  of  a  letter  V, 
with  the  point  sticking  out  in  front,  apparently  for 
no  other  reason  than  the  exquisite  satisfaction  of 
having  a  street  pass  up  each  side ;  and  they  make 
their  streets  crooked  to  look  at,  and  then  make 
alleys  to  get  there.  Washington  Street,  the  prin- 
cipal thoroughfare, 

"  Like  a  wounded  snake  drags  its  slow  length  along." 

I  h?ve  heard  that  it  was  originated  by  cows,  me- 
andering down  to  drink.  This  hypothesis  may 
answer  in  the  one  case,  but  it  won't  apply  to  the 
smaller  streets,  for  a  cow  could  not  make  so  acute 
angles  if  she  tried.  Owing  to  this  vaccine  inabil- 
ity, Washington  street  rolls  on  with  considerable 
dignity  for  awhile,  but  it  goes  off  into  a  deliri- 
um tremens  down  by  Cornhill  and  Dock  Square. 
Everything  is  as  shifting  as  a  kaleidoscope.  When 
you  set  out  from  the  Revere  House,  you  observed 
the  landmarks.  There  was  "  Oliver  H.  Brooks, 
Eating-House,"  set  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  and 
peaked  of  course.  That  is  easy  to  remember. 
But  when  you  get  back  into  the  maze,  the  thing  is 


BOSTON  AND  HOME  AGAIN.  253 

th^re,  to  be  sure,  wedging  itself  into  space,  but  it 
is  no  longer  Oliver  H.  Brooks's  Eating-House ;  it 
is  B.  F.  Paine's  Fruit  of  all  kinds  Chamois.  You 
go  to  the  very  spot  where  the  Revere  House  stood 
in  the  morning.  It  has  died  and  left  no  sign, 
and  a  block  of  brick  houses  reigns  in  its  stead. 
When  you  went  up  Cornhill,  "  V.  B.  Palmer  " 
stood  at  the  head  of  it  in  gold  letters,  but  when 
you  come  back  Y.  B.  has  trotted  off,  and  the  vari- 
ous religious  and  publishing  societies  which  con- 
gregate there  have,  in  the  incredibly  short  space 
of  two  hours,  given  way  to  Mr.  Blake's  Furnish- 
ing Rooms,  or  the  Quincy  House.  As  for  Faneuil 
Hall,  it  is  perpetually  dancing  a  jig  with  Dock 
Square.  Places  that  you  are  in  a  hurry  to  come 
at,  are  never  "  at  home."  Places  that  you  don't 
want,  are  continually  turning  up.  You  may  wan- 
der about  in  that  benighted  region  for  hours,  and 
every  corner  you  turn,  there  will  be  Faneuil  Hall 
prancing  before  your  eyes  as  pert  and  coquettish 
as  if  each  time  were  the  fii*st.  It  is  always  within 
a  stone's  throw,  but  you  never  get  close  to  it.  I 
don't  believe  anybody  ever  did  get  close  to  it. 
And  you  never  see  it  standing  square.  You  never 
have  a  front  view,  nor  a  side  view,  but  always  a 
corner  view.  It  must  have  secret  springs,  for  if 
you  make  a  flank  movement,  with  the  sole  object 
of  getting  it  in  a  straight  line,  it  will  manage  to  cut 
a  pirouette,  and  present  angles.  Jefferson  Davis 
threatened  to  go  into  w^inter  quarters  in  Faneuil 


254  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

Hall.  I  wish  he  had.  A  sure  way  to  stop  the 
rebellion  without  bloodshed  would  be  to  bring 
him  and  his  whole  army  to  Faneuil  Hall  and 
suburbs.  They  never  would  find  their  way  out 
ao;ain.  I  would  not  blindfold  them.  I  would 
give  them  every  clew  that  they  chose.  After 
they  were  once  in,  Boston  could  just  shake 
herself,  the  clews  would  be  good  for  nothing, 
and  Massachusetts  nurseries  for  a  thousand  years 
would  shiver  at  twilight  over  stories  of  wandering 
ghosts,  with  phantom  barred  flags  and  shadowy 
Golden  Circles,  wandering,  weeping,  wailing,  in 
the  alleys  of  Dock  Square,  and  moaning  ever  and 
anon,  like  Sterne's  starling,  "  I  can't  get  out."  I 
mention  only  Dock  Square,  but  there  are,  as  the 
Yankees  say,  "  lots  of  'em."  That  one  has  made 
the  deepest  impression  on  me,  for  whenever  I  am 
lost,  I  drift  into  that,  and  it  seems  like  the  night- 
mare. I  suppose  it  is  called  "  Square,"  on  the 
same  principle  that  the  only  man  in  the  House 
of  Representatives  who  cannot  make  a  speech  is 
called  Mr.  Speaker.  Certainly  there  never  was 
such  a  misnomer  as  Dock  Square.  Dock  Dodeca- 
gon would  be  nearer  the  truth,  but  that  would 
only  approximate  it,  for  a  dodecagon  has  regular 
sides,  and  there  is  not  a  regular  side  to  anything, 
from  one  end  of  Boston  to  the  other,  let  alone 
Dock  Square,  which  has  no  sides  at  all,  bnt  con- 
sists solely  of  corners. 

That  the  crookedness  of  Boston  is  not  external 


BOSTON  AND  HOME  AGAIN.  255 

only,  but  strikes  in,  there  is  abundant  proof.  You 
go  into  a  shop,  —  Kinmonth's,  for  instance.  You 
founder  at  once  in  a  raginsi:  sea  of  agitated  silks 
and  laces  and  feathers.  Appalled,  you  turn  to 
Turnbull's,  next  door.  Another  sea,  but  some- 
thing must  be  done.  You  want  sixpence  worth 
of  galloon.  At  home,  in  your  one  little  "  cheap 
cash  store,"  you  could  get  it,  and  be  gone,  in  two 
minutes  ;  but  the  female  population  of  the  rural 
districts  has  a  mortal  aversion  to  buying  anything 
at  home  that  can  be  bought  in  Boston.  The 
grandeur  of  the  metropolis  seems  to  cling  around 
whatever  radiates  from  it  into  the  country,  even 
though  it  be  only  a  paper  of  pins.  So,  feeling  very 
tall,  and  awkward,  and  conspicuous,  you  timidly  ask 
the  first  clerk  to  whom  you  gain  access  for  galloon. 
"  Back  part  of  the  store,"  says  he,  briskly,  and 
turns  to  the  next  comer.  You  color  away  up  to 
your  hair,  and  down  under  your  collar,  feeling 
guilty  and  ashamed,  and  very  rustic,  —  as  if  you 
ought  to  have  known,  by  instinct  or  education, 
that  galloon  is  never  to  be  found  in  the  front 
ranks.  You  flounder  through  the  press  into  the 
back  part  of  the  store,  and  repeat  your  request 
with  as  much  au  fait  as  you  can  assume.  "  Back 
part  of  the  store,"  jerks  clerk  No.  2,  and  is  off  in 
a  twinkling,  and  there  you  are,  stranded  high  and 
dry.  It  turns  out  that  what  you  thought  was  the 
back  part  of  the  store  is  only  the  beginning  of 
another  room  at  right  angles  with  the  first,  —  and 


256  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

so  you  go  on,  and  the  rooms  go  on.  You  are  shot 
up  by  some  pop-gun  of  a  clerk  from  counter  to 
counter,  from  room  to  room,  fondly  thinking  every 
one  to  be  the  last,  but  finding  in  the  backest  part 
a  backer  part,  —  (vide  Milton,) — till,  after  making 
half  a  dozen  angles  of  incidence  and  reflection, 
you  get  your  galloon,  and  —  there  is  the  door 
close  by  you  !  Is  Turnbull's,  then,  built  circu- 
larly ?  Have  you  circumnavigated  it  till,  as  the 
old  geographies  used  to  say,  you  have  arrived 
at  the  point  from  which  you  started,  in  an  op- 
posite direction  ?  In  your  bewilderment,  this 
is  not  difficult  to  believe,  and  you  depart,  but 
everything  without  is  changed.  The  din  seems 
hushed,  or  far  off".  The  tide  of  drays  and  omni- 
buses has  ebbed.  You  remember  that  Kin- 
month's  was  next  door,  —  yes,  there  is  Kin- 
month's,  but  no  longer  next  door ;  it  has  stepped 
across  the  street  and  stands  opposite,  and  the  big 
sign  has  dwindled  into  a  little  one.  Terror- 
struck,  you  strike  out  at  random,  fearful  lest  the 
Merlin,  or  Math,  or  Michael  Scott,  who  roams  in 
Boston,  stretch  forth  his  wand  again  ;  sign,  shop, 
and  city  disappear  before  your  eyes,  and  you 
find  yourself  wandering  among  the  forests  and 
wigwams  of  Shawmut. 

Boston,  moreover,  has  a  way  of  contracting  and 
expanding  herself  that  is  marvellous  in  country 
eyes.  You  shall,  for  instance,  be  in  search  of 
Number    Thirty- three.      Passing    up    the   street, 


BOSTON  AND  HOME  AGAIN,  257 

reading  eagerly  every  sign,  you  count  "  twenty- 
seven,  twenty-eight,  twenty-nine,"  —  and  then 
there  is  a  sudden  leap  over  to  thirty-eight  I 
What  now  ?  You  look  again,  fancying  you 
must  have  made  a  mistake.  No,  this  door  is 
certainly  twenty-nine,  and  the  next  is  certainly 
thirty-eight,  if  you  can  read  Arabic  characters. 
Eight  houses,  therefore,  must  be  squeezed  into 
one  brick  partition- wall.  You  think  of  micro- 
scopes. You  wonder  if  the  houses  are  to  be 
pulled  out  one  after  another,  as  Mr.  Hermann 
prestidigitates  twenty  apples  and  fifty  tin  cups  out 
of  one  empty  old  hat.  Presently,  you  summon 
courage  to  go  into  a  neighboring  shop,  and  re- 
quest to  be  enlightened.  They  inform  you  that 
the  missing  numbers  are  attached  to  the  doors 
of  rooms  inside.  A  most  extraordinary  circum- 
stance !  It  is  generally  supposed  that  a  house 
means  a  house.  In  Boston,  however,  it  appears 
to  mean  only  a  room.  Number  Ten  does  not 
necessarily  indicate  the  tenth  house  on  the  street. 
You  must  fumble  through  the  dark  passages  and 
over  the  strange  staircases  within  before  you  can 
be  sure  that  it  does  not  point  out  the  tenth  room. 
If  we  should  go  and  do  likewise  in  the  country, 
numbering  and  labelling  every  barn,  corn -barn, 
cider-press,  pig-sty,  dog-kennel,  hen-coop,  and 
dove-cot,  we  should  have  quite  a  little  settle 
ment  at  every  homestead. 

The  result  of  it  all  is,  that   you  never   know 


258  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

how  much  groiind  you  have  been  over,  nor 
where  you  ought  to  stop.  You  make  your  way 
to  the  dry-goods  desk  in  a  shop,  and  ask  for  pop- 
lins, overliaul  them  all,  find  nothing  to  suit,  and 
go  on  till  you  come  to  another  shop,  and  by  a 
similar  process  are  passed  up  to  a  similar  desk, 
and  repeat  your  meek  inquiry.  "  You  looked  at 
all  our  poplins  a  few  moments  ago,"  says  the  clerk, 
politely.  You  lift  your  eyes  quickly  to  his  face. 
Yes,  it  is  the  same  man  and  the  same  place  that 
you  went  to  before,  —  and  then  do  you  not  feel 
amiable?  Yet  you  have  been  a  Sabbath-day's 
journey  since  then.  How  in  the  world,  then, 
came  you  back  again  ?  Because  these  wary 
merchants  open  doors  and  send  out  feelers  in  all 
directions,  and  there  is  nothing  for  a  poor,  silly 
little  fly  like  you  to  do  but  walk  into  their  par- 
lors whichever  way  you  turn. 

But  Boston,  though  crooked  and  inexplicable, 
is  not  without  her  charms.  "  God  made  the 
country  and  man  made  the  town,"  as  a  general 
fact.  But  there  is  a  good  deal  in  Boston  that 
man  never  made  and  never  will  make. 

Come,  behold  the  works  of  the  Lord.  You  need 
not  turn  yourself  into  a  polar  bear  with  furs,  live 
on  raw  frozen  walrus  beef,  tallow  candles,  and 
blubber,  be  drawn  by  dogs,  and  sleep  in  a  hut  with 
a  naked  Esquimaux  baby  for  a  pillow,  —  nor  need 
you  brave  the  snakes  and  scorpions  and  hurricanes 
of  the  tropics,  or  plunge  full  many  a  fathom  deep 


BOSTON  AND  HOME  AGAIN.  259 

in  the  ghost-enpeopled  sea,  —  to  gaze  upon  the 
wonderful  works  of  God  ;  for  behold  they  are  nigh 
you,  ev^n  at  your  doors. 

Right  in  the  thick  of  Boston  is  a  glass  tank,  big 
enough  to  sail  a  small  fleet,  and  in  that  tank  a  huge 
white  whale  bulges  his  billowy  bulk  in  a  never- 
ending  round  of  treadmill  travel.  I  call  him  huge, 
but  it  is  relatively.  He  is,  in  fact,  rather  diminu- 
tive for  a  whale,  but  he  is  prodigious  for  a  fish. 
You  have  studied  in  Parley's  Geography  about  a 
whale  as  big  as  the  steeple  of  the  meeting-house,  — 
an  indefinite,  but  sublime  comparison.  You  have 
read  thrilUng  narratives  of  whale  captures,  —  long 
and  perilous  voyages,  boats  stove,  races  run,  men 
submerged,  shipwreck  and  suffering  and  death  in 
far-off",  mysterious  seas.  Think  then  what  a  tri- 
umph of  mind  over  matter  is  implied  in  the  fact, 
that  for  twenty-five  cents  you  can  go  and  sit  in 
your  best  clothes,  and  look  at  a  whale.  But  you 
must  look  closely,  or  you  will  not  see  him ;  he  but 
just  heaves  above  the  surface  to  breathe,  and  then 
sinks  down  till  he  is  only  a  white  mist  in  the  green 
water.  What  a  fortitude  the  poor  fellow  needs  to 
sustain  his  change  of  fortune.  Surely,  if  any  one 
ever  had  right  to  complain  of  "  reduced  circum- 
stances," it  is  he,  wrested  from  the  halls  of  his 
fathers,  from  the  forests  of  the  vivid-tressed  mer- 
maidens,  from  the  crystalline  corridors  "  of  his  dim 
water- world,"  to  a  glass  tank,  —  admission  twenty- 
five  cents ;  children  under  ten  years  of  age  fifteen 


260  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

cents.  And  what  a  lonely  life  it  is !  There  are 
sturgeons  and  lobsters  and  a  dolphin,  to  be  sure, 
but  they  are  not  like  "  own  folks."  A  whale  can- 
not be  expected  to  be  hand  and  glove  with  a  lob- 
ster. A  sturgeon  cannot  enter  into  the  feelings  of 
a  whale.  So,  as  was  said  of  Napoleon,  "  grand, 
gloomy,  and  peculiar,  he  sits  upon  his  throne,  a 
sceptred  hermit,  wrapped  in  the  solitude  of  his 
own  originality." 

The  little  dolphin  is  alone  too,  but  he  does  not 
seem  to  mind  it.  I  call  him  little,  but  that  is  also 
relative.  Little  beside  the  whale,  he  is  a  giant 
among  the  dolphins,  and  he  sports  around  the 
whale,  a  dusky  satellite,  as  gay  as  a  lark,  doubling, 
bobbing,  and  seeming  to  take  life  in  a  very  free  and 
easy  manner. 

"  This  is  a  weary  world,  little  Dolphin,"  one 
can  fancy  the  melancholy  whale  saying,  in  sepul- 
chral tones,  and  with  that  dignity  of  bearing  which 
the  great  are  wont  to  employ  towards  the  small. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,  Whaley,"  retorts  the  dolphin, 
cheerily,  with  the  smart  familiarity  of  ignorance. 

"  I  am  haunted  evermore,  O  Dolphin,  by  the 
dull  brilliancy  of  golden  memories.  Did  I  ever 
sweep  around  the  illimitable  shores  of  an  icy  conti- 
nent ?  Were  my  pearly  whiteness  and  the  splen- 
dor of  my  opal  tints  caught  from  the  glow  of  an 
unsetting  sun  ?  Whence  come  the  diamond  moun- 
tains, ruby-crested,  that  rise  forever  in  my  dreams  ? 
Do  you  not  remember,  O  Dolphin,  a  brighter  sky, 
a  broader  sea,  and  other  shores  than  these  ?  " 


BOSTON  AND  HOME  AGAIN.  261 

"  None  to  speak  of,  Whaley.  Nothing  that 
could  hold  a  candle  to  this.  Cold  as  Greenland, 
that  's  all  I  remember,  and  no  nice  people  to  look 
at  you.     Tip-top  world  : 

'  Here  we  go  up,  up,  up, 

Here  we  go  down,  down,  downy, 
Here  we  go  backwards  and  forwards, 
Here  we  go  round,  round,  roundy.'  " 

And,  with  a  double-and-twisted  frisk  of  his  tail,  off 
he  darts,  leaving  his  gigantic  companion  to  roll  on 
his  monotonous  way  "  in  slow  and  solemn  bright- 
ness." 

It  is  amusing  to  see  how  the  other  little  fellows 
in  the  tank  keep  out  of  the  whale's  and  the  dol- 
phin's orbit.  They  have  caught  the  fashion,  and 
revolve,  but  they  hug  the  shore.  I  am  sure  they 
need  not  be  afraid,  for,  if  there  is  any  truth  in 
physiognomy,  that  whale  is  a  humane  and  benevo- 
lent individual,  and  Dolphin  is  too  good-naturedj 
with  all  his  giddiness,  to  harm  a  fly.  But,  from 
whatever  cause,  the  "  small  fry  "  never  come  in 
collision  with  their  Anak  brethren.  It  is  a  very 
easy  matter  for  them  to  avoid  it.  Men  have  to 
move  on  the  same  plane,  but  when  haddock  meets 
haddock,  he  can  dive,  or  soar,  or  pass  on  one  side, 
as  he  chooses,  and  this  certainly  is  one  of  the  com- 
pensations for  being  a  fish.  You  encounter  Mr. 
Smith,  and,  because  you  are  a  reasoning  animal, 
you  must  keep  to  the  right  as  the  law  directs, 
though  you  wet  your  feet  and  get  a  lung-fever  in 


262     •  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

consequence ;  but  if  you  were  only  a  bass  or  a 
cod-fish,  you  could  dart  down  and  go  under  him, 
or  you  could  strike  up  and  go  over  him,  which 
would  save  invaluable  time,  temper,  and  health. 
Here  comes  Mrs.  Jones  under  full  sail,  her  silken 
expansiveness  resplendent  in  the  morning  sun. 
She  needs,  and  should  receive,  the  whole  side- 
walk, and  a  coal-cart  presses  against  the  curb- 
stone. What  now?  A  smile,  a  bow,  a  graceful 
undulation,  one  bird's-eye  view  of  Mrs.  Jones, 
and  vou  have  alishted  on  the  sidewalk  behind 
her,  resuming  your  stroll  with  unspotted  boots 
and  unruffled  placidity.  Eheu  !  non  omnia  possu 
mus  omnes;  which  means,  dear  unlearned  readers, 
who  have  never  pushed  your  researches  to  the  last 
page  of  Webster's  Spelling-book,  that,  though  it  is 
possible  to  be  a  fish,  and  possible  to  be  a  man,  it  is 
not  possible  to  be  both  at  one  and  the  same  mo- 
ment. 

Around  the  central  tank  are  small  tanks  full 
of  unimagined  beauty.  The  exquisite,  elaborate 
forms,  and  the  intense  green  of  sea-plants  ;  the 
multiplied  hues,  shifting,  flashing,  dazzling,  — 
green,  and  purple,  and  pink,  and  gold,  —  of  the 
millions  of  little  lives  ;  the  feathery  waving  of  the 
sea-anemone,  the  burnished  scales  of  the  humblest 
trout,  the  sluggish  torpor  of  the  slow,  and  the 
electric  agihty  of  the  quick,  —  inspire  you  with 
delighted  wonder.  Little  marvellous  outbursts  of 
life !     For  what  service    were    they   formed    and 


BOSTON  AND  HOME  AGAIN,  263 

fashioned  ?  We  see  but  one,  and  the  ocean  teems 
with  myriads  which  no  human  eye  hath  seen,  or 
shall  see ;  but  does  not  the  great  Creator,  whose, 
name  is  Love,  enjoy  the  happiness  of  his  lowliest 
creations  ?  May  not  his  eye  dwell  delighted  on 
the  work  of  his  hands  ?  What  presumption  for 
us  to  marvel  at  the  production  of  beauty  which 
we  cannot  see  !  As  if  in  the  broad  universe  there 
were  no  eyes  but  ours  ! 

Here  is  a  den  of  tortoises,  excessively  ugly,  and 
inconceivably  heavy  of  movement.  What  is  re- 
markable about  a  turtle  is,  that  he  is  not  only 
sluggish,  but  he  does  not  seem  to  try  to  be  other- 
wise. He  takes  pains  to  be  lazy.  If  he  wants  to 
go  from  the  upper  to  the  lower  story  of  his  cage, 
instead  of  climbing  or  jumping  down,  he  lolls  to 
the  edge,  and  then  drops  off.  I  have  lost  my 
early  faith  in  the  fable  of  the  hare  and  the  tortoise. 
I  believe  a  hare  could  get  anywhere  sooner  than  a 
tortoise,  if  he  slept  all  the  time. 

Up  and  down,  up  and  down,  tramp  the  lions, 
and  the  leopards,  and  the  bears,  tramp,  tramp, 
tramp,  —  their  fierce  hearts  beating  against  their 
prison-bars  like  restless  souls  chained  in  the  cage 
of  circumstance,  hungering,  thirsting,  maddened, 
for  their  native  jungles,  and  the  freedom  of  their 
uncramped,  strong  limbs.  No  philosophy,  no 
religion,  gives  them  resignation.  They  cannot 
"  find,  for  outward  Eden  lost,  a  paradise  within." 
No    self-control    ennobles    them.      Their   savage 


264  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

souls  know  no  restraint  but  the  iron  bars 
against  which  they  press  in  vain.  No  reason  for 
their  stolen  liberty  mitigates  the  severity  of  its 
loss.  It  is  nothing  to  them  that  they  are  daily 
waiting  on  the  pleasure  and  the  wisdom  of  a 
higher  race.  So,  perhaps,  our  sufferings,  —  the 
blow  that  shocks  us  out  of  all  conventionalities, 
and  the  inward,  silent,  hidden  torture,  —  all  the 
ache  and  agony,  — "  the  dull,  deep  pain,  and 
constant  anguish  of  patience,"  —  shall  work  out 
for  other  lives,  if  not  for  ours,  a  far  more  exceed- 
ing and  eternal  weight  of  glory. 

Time  would  fail  me  to  speak  of  the  deers,  and 
the  snakes,  and  the  squirrels,  the  porcupines,  the 
woodchucks,  and  the  guinea-pigs,  the  rats,  and 
the  cats,  and  the  kangaroos.  There  will  always 
be  a  crowd  watching  the  frisky  little  monkeys, 
whose  bodies  are  so  rollicking,  whose  faces  are 
so  dismal,  and  whose  gymnastics  are  so  almost 
incredible.  And  if  you  are  not  too  fastidious  to 
join  the  crowd,  you  will  see  some  display  of 
human,  as  well  as  of  simio  nature.  A  little  boy 
near  me  had  long  been  silently  devouring  the 
monkeys  with  his  eyes ;  presently  his  father  came 
along,  and,  anxious  that  his  son  should  —  as  Ms 
old  copy-books  doubtless  enjoined  upon  him  — 
devote  every  moment  of  his  time  to  the  acquire- 
ment of  useful  knowledge,  began,  in  the  regu- 
lar Harry  and  Lucy  style,  to  advise  him  to 
"  watch  their  motions,  observe   the  variety,"  &c. 


BOSTON  AND  HOME  AGAIN.  265 

Why,  you  dear,  good  man,  as  I  know  you  must 
be,  what  in  the  world  did  you  suppose  your  boy 
"was  doing  with  those  great  wide  eyes  of  his  ?  Set 
any  boy  down  before  a  cage  of  monkeys,  and  see 
if  you  can  make  him  do  anything  else  than  watch 
their  motions ! 

Do  not  forget  the  seal,  the  sea-dog,  round,  fat, 
and  sleek,  with  full,  pathetic  eyes.  What  name- 
less tragedy,  far  back  in  the  history  of  the  race, 
has  left  those  mute,  appealing  eyes?  —  a  monu- 
ment more  durable  than  brass.  Fortunately,  the 
tragedy  has  not  affected  his  appetite,  as  the  alac- 
rity with  which  he  gulps  down  a  piece  of  fish  as 
big  as  your  arm,  and  then  looks  up  at  you  as 
tragic  and  trusting  as  if  he  had  not  swallowed  a 
morsel,  and  you  never  suspected  he  had,  abun- 
dantly testifies.  Our  seal  has  accomplishments, 
too.  He  jerks  a  waddling  kind  of  a  duck  at  you, 
and  thinks  it  is  a  bow.  He  flops  up  and  turns  a 
crank,  calling  it  a  hand-organ.  As  his  education 
is  still  going  on,  there  is  no  telling  what  attrac- 
tions he  may  not  finally  attain. 

So  the  tl'opics  and  the  frozen  North-land  meet. 
Sea  and  shore  give  up  the  wonders  which  are  in 
them  ;  and  in  the  midst  of  man's  work  and  man's 
devices,  we  say,  with  reverent  hearts,  "  The  earth 
is  full  of  the  riches  of  the  Lord." 

And  Boston  is  not  only  valuable  as  a  depository 
of  curiosities  and  dry -goods,  but  slie  has  her  beau- 
tiful aspects.      I  will  tell  you   how   to  arrive  at 

12 


266  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

one  of  tliem.  Sleep  soundly  througli  a  winter 
night  in  one  of  those  rural  cities  in  her  suburbs 
that  lie  toward  the  sunset.  Rise  early  on  the 
fine,  frosty  morning.  The  snow  lies  six  inches 
deep  on_  the  ground,  and  is  covered  with  ice. 
Every  tree  is  heavy  fruited  with  gems,  pale  and 
pearly  now,  but  the  up-coming  sun  shall  kindle 
them  to  prismatic  fire.     Take  possession  of  some 

good  friend  who  owns  a  ,   I  have  forgotten 

the  name,  but  it  is  a  square  box  on  runners,  and 
is  eitlier  a  pun,  or  a  pung,  or  a  bun,  or  a  bung, 
and  coax  him  to  harness  his  horse  and  drive  you 
into  Boston.  Then  you  shall  see  her  glorified. 
The  keen  air  clarifies  your  vision,  thrills  your 
blood,  and  tingles  through  your  soul.  At  first, 
Boston  wraps  herself  in  mist,  and  is  a  city  of  the 
clouds,  invisible  to  earth-born.  But  the  sun, 
coming  up  from  the  Under-Land,  sends  his  her- 
alds before,  and  the  vapor  glows  into  amethyst. 
Still  the  heralds  come,  —  the  sky  grows  rosy,  the 
swelling  dome  that  crowns  the  three-hilled  city 
mounts  up  from  the  vapor  sea,  the  church  spires 
shoot  golden  arrows  into  the  ruddy  heavens,  — 
all  is  soft,  and  sparkling,  and  beautiful. 

Boston,  you  are  more  beautiful  than  this.  When, 
after  long  absence  and  wandering,  I  come  over  the 
marshes  to  meet  you,  you  are  lovely  as  the  day. 
I  wait  for  you  as  they  that  watch  for  the  morning, 
and  when  your  stately  dome  curves  its  clear  con- 
tour against  the  blue  sky,  "  my  heart  swells  and 


BOSTON  AND   HOME  AGAIN.  267 

my  eyes  are  dim."  Beloved  Queen  of  my  beloved 
State,  the  archers  have  sorely  grieved  you,  and 
shot  at  you,  and  hated  you,  but  your  bow  abides 
in  strength.  When  envious  rivals  traduce  you,  I 
make  no  defence.  "  She  needs  none.  There  she 
is.  Behold  her,  and  judge  for  yourselves."  When 
I  am  asked,  "  What  is  thy  beloved  more  than  an- 
other beloved  ?  "  I  only  say,  "  My  beloved  is  wme," 
but  I  think  of  all  the  grandeur  garnered  there,  of 
all  your  inheritance,  all  your  possession,  and  all 
the  promise  of  your  future. 

Yet,  O  Boston,  I  have  somewhat  even  against 
you.  There  are  stains  upon  your  escutcheon. 
There  is  blood  upon  your  garments.  I  have  heard 
that  you  once,  in  blind  fury,  placed  a  rope  around 
the  neck  of  an  innocent  man,  and  dragged  him 
through  your  streets.  What  tears  shall  wash  out 
the  footprints  you  made  that  day  ?  I  have  heard 
that  iron  chains  once  clanked  around  your  noble 
court-house,  that  white-haired  judges  passed  under 
the  yoke,  and  that  you  let  a  man  be  dragged  back 
into  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death.  Do  you 
say  that  it  was  not  your  fault  ?  Did  your  loyalty 
to  law  clash  with  your  loyalty  to  God  ?  But  how 
was  it  when,  not  two  years  ago,  you  stood  up  with 
deliberate  intent  to  crush  free  speech?  Where 
then  was  your  loyalty  to  law  ?  Where  was  your 
manhood  ?  Where  was  your  honor  ?  Where  was 
your  chivalry  ?  Where  your  high  birth  and  breed- 
ing?    With  malice  prepense  you  assembled  your 


268  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

"  merchant  princes,"  and  lewd  fellows  of  the  basest 
sort,  and  placed  a  knife  at  the  throat  of  liberty. 
You  stabbed  the  breast  that  cherished  your  infancy 
You  shamed  the  mother  that  bore  you.  The  guilt, 
if  not  the  stain,  of  blood  is  at  your  door. 

O  Boston,  Boston !  be  as  crooked  as  you  like, 
waltz  as  bewilderingly  as  you  will,  but  keep  your- 
self pure.  Sully  not  your  fair  fame.  Play  not 
false  to  humanity.  Shame  not  the  memory  of  your 
fathers.  Make  atonement  to-day  for  the  sins  of 
the  past,  if  so  be  the  Lord  will  yet  have  mercy 
upon  you.  Now  is  the  accepted  time.  Gird  thy 
sword  upon  thy  thigh,  and  in  thy  majesty  ride 
prosperously,  because  of  truth  and  meekness  and 
righteousness.  Let  thine  arrows  be  sharp  in  the 
hearts  of  the  king's  enemies.  Love  righteousness 
and  hate  wickedness.  So  shall  the  king  greatly 
desire  thy  beauty,  and  make  thy  name  to  be  re- 
membered in  all  generations. 

But  shopping  and  sight-seeing,  like  all  things 
earthly,  must  come  to  an  end,  and  having  accom- 
plished a  few  of  my  thousand  and  one  errands,  I 
—  for  whether  I  have  in  this  narrative  said  "  you  " 
or  "  I,"  it  all  means  myself —  turned  my  face 
homeward.  I  did  not  wish  to  go  by  the  direct 
route,  but  through  Salem,  stopping  over  one  train 
at  Melrose.  Geography,  I  regret  to  say,  has  al- 
ways been  my  weak  point,  and  I  was  quite  igno- 
rant of  the  situation  of  Melrose,  and  consequently 
did  not  know  what  railroad  ran  through  it.     To 


BOSTON  AND  HOME  AGAIN.  269 

my  country  eyes  there  are  railroads  and  depots 
enough  in  Boston  to  give  a  separate  one  to  every 
village  in  the  vicinity.  I  inquired  at  a  shop  on 
Cornhill  from  what  depot  I  should  leave  for  Mel- 
rose. They  advised  me  to  take  the  horse  cars, 
I  did  not  know  horse  cars  v^ent  there.  They  be- 
lieved they  did  ;  at  any  rate  I  could  inquire  at 
the  car-office  just  above.  I  started  for  the  car- 
office.  "  Just  above  "  not  seeming  to  develop 
such  an  institution,  I  went  into  another  shop,  and 
asked  a  clerk  if  he  could  tell  me  where  the  car- 
office  was.  He  asked  me  what  car-office.  I  was 
vexed  with  myself  for  asking  such  a  question,  as 
if,  like  the  man  who  inquired  the  way  to  Boston 
meeting-house,  I  supposed  there  was  but  one  in 
the  city.  I  answered,  with  as  much  intellectuality 
and  cosmopolitanism  as  I  could  call  up,  "  The 
Melrose  office."  "  Why,"  said  he,  "  there  it  is, 
right  there."  There,  sure  enough,  it  was  before 
my  face  and  eyes,  in  staring  capitals,  "  Maiden  and 
Melrose  Railroad."  I  launched  another  thunder- 
bolt against  myself  for  my  blindness,  and  went 
in,  determined  to  be  on  my  guard  and  ask  no 
more  foolish  questions.  A  woman  was  transact- 
ing business  with  the  clerk,  and,  while  waiting, 
I  reflected  that  the  question  I  set  out  with,  viz. 
if  the  cars  went  to  Melrose,  would  be  a  foolish 
one,  after  seeing  the  sign,  and  I  would  therefore 
simply  ask  at  what  hour  they  left.  Having  made 
this  resolution  I  had  leisure  to  observe  the  woman 


270  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

who  was  talking  with  the  clerk.  She  seemed  to 
be  rather  excited.  She  had,  it  seemed,  paid  her 
fare  in  the  car,  the  conductor  had  not  given  the 
right  change  back,  and  she  wanted  the  clerk  to 
make  it  right.  /  could  see  that  it  was  none  of 
his  business,  but  she  could  not,  and  was  highly 
indignant  at  his  refusal.  He  directed  her  to  the 
Superintendent  of  the  road  as  the  proper  person. 
She  remarked,  with  the  air  of  a  Nemesis,  tliat  she 
should  not  come  to  the  office  again  about  it.  He 
seemed  resigned.  She  went  away,  woman-like, 
declaring  with  her  last  breath,  ''  You  owe  me 
twenty-three  cents."  He  had  been  as  polite  as 
could  be  expected,  but  it  was  not  in  human  na- 
ture not  to  retort,  "  I  don't  owe  you  a  cent,"  and 
then,  turning  to  a  gentleman  near  by,  he  added, 
"  There  's  a  woman  says  I  owe  her  twenty-three 
cents,  and  I  never  had  any  dealings  with  her  in 
my  life."  All  my  womanhood  blushed  at  this 
woman's  unreasonableness ;  I  determined  to  try 
to  obliterate  the  impression  from  his  mind  by  the 
utmost  consideration  and  politeness  ;  and  blandly 
asked,  putting  a  good  deal  of  sympathy  for  his 
embarrassing  position  into  my  manner,  "  Will  you 
be  so  good  as  to  tell  me  at  what  hour  the  cars 
leave  for  Melrose  ?  " 

"  They  don't  leave  at  all.  They  don't  go  there." 
I  could  have  borne  the  disappointment  of  fruit- 
less search  with  fortitude  ;  but  to  be  baffled  in  my 
magnanimity  was  too  much.     I  am  afraid  I  lost 


BOSTON  AND  HOME  AGAIN.  271 

my  temper  for  a  moment,  and  that  the  clerk  found 
it  in  my  impetuous  question,  "  What  under  the 
sun  do  you  have  that  sign  there  for  then  ?  "  He 
muttered  something  about  a  charter,  which  was 
probably  satisfactory  to  himself,  but  of  little  avail 
to  my  wounded  feelings,  and,  in  the  chaotic  state 
of  my  mind,  I  could  hardly  be  blamed  for  asking 
the  first  question  that  came  up,  "  What  time  do 
the  steam-cars  go  to  Melrose  ?  "  He  did  n't  know, 
and  I  perceived  that  I  had  fallen  into  a  trap  again. 
Of  course  he  did  n't ;  he  had  nothing  to  do  with 
steam-cars.  I  went  back  to  the  original  shop. 
They  were  very  polite,  and  looked  up  evidence, 
and  decided  that  the  Boston  and  Maine  Railroad 
was  the  one.  They  directed  me  to  the  depot,  but 
they  killed  me  with  kindness,  for  one  told  me  to 
take  this  street,  and  another  said  that  street  was 
nearer,  and  a  third  said  the  first  street  was  just  as 
near,  and  they  all  seemed  to  talk  together,  though 
I  don't  suppose  they  did,  and  I  was  conscious  of 
nothing  but  a  din  of  "  Union  Street,"  and  "  Brat- 
tle Street,"  and  "  Haymarket  Square,"  which 
quite  bewildered  me,  though  I  endeavored  to  look 
as  if  I  comprehended  everything  clearly,  and  said 
yes  all  round,  anxious  only  to  get  out  doors  and 
into  the  next  shop,  to  inquire  the  way  to  the  Bos- 
ton and  Maine  Railroad  depot.  Only  one  thing  I 
understood,  —  that,  instead  of  going  out  at  the 
front  door,  I  was  to  go  "  right  out  this  way,"  but 
"  out  this  way  "  I  could  see  nothing  but  windows, 


272  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

though,  all  the  while  they  were  talking,  I  cast 
stolen  glances  to  catch  any  sign  of  a  door.  I  was 
determined,  however,  not  to  ask  another  foolish 
question,  and  merely  remarked  that  I  saw  no 
mode  of  egress  that  way  except  through  the  win- 
dows. Then  they  showed  me  a  basement  door, 
through  which  I  made  good  my  escape,  grateful 
for  their  kindness,  but  not  much  the  wiser. 

By  assiduous  inquiry,  I  found  my  way  to  the 
depot,  and  gathered  my  various  packages  together. 
Observation  and  experience  both  combine  to  make 
me  a  firm  foe  to  packages.  I  lose  half  my  self- 
respect  and  all  my  independence  unless  my  hands 
are  free.  At  this  time,  by  circumstances  entirely 
beyond  my  control,  I  was  the  proprietor  of  five 
different  articles,  —  a  package  of  books  and  paper, 
cumbrous  and  heavy,  a  travelling-basket  bursting 
full,  as  I  particularly  dislike  to  see  travelling-bas- 
kets, a  roll  of  cloth,  a  parasol,  and  a  bottle  of  yeast. 
One  of  the  pleasantest  feelings  in  the  world  is  that 
of  being  master  of  one's  position  ;  but  when  one  is 
weighed  down  with  bundles,  one  is  its  victim,  and 
I  got  into  the  cars  under  a  deep  sense  of  degrada- 
tion, though  innocent  of  any  palpable  sin.  The 
cars  were  full.  I  walked  slowlv  throucrh  till  a 
gentleman  arose  and  gave  me  his  seat.  Men  make 
so  much  ado  about  the  ingratitude  and  impolite- 
ness of  travelling  women,  that  I  make  a  point  of 
acknowledging  the  smallest  courtesy ;  but  just  as 
I  was  putting  on  my  most  grateful  expression  to 


BOSTON  AND  HOME  AGAIN  273 

thank  him  in,  it  suddenly  occurred  to  me  that  this 
seat,  being  next  to  the  stove,  might  prove  fatal  to 
my  yeast-bottle.  I  had  been  particularly  warned 
not  even  to  let  it  come  in  contact  with  my  person 
more  than  was  necessary,  lest  the  warmth  should 
make  it  ferment,  —  and  to  sit  in  front  of  a  red-hot 
air-tight  stove  I  I  could  have  borne  to  lose  the 
yeast,  though  it  was  a  new  kind,  said  to  be  of  a 
superior  quality,  which  I  was  taking  home  for 
trial ;  nor  should  I  have  been  inconsolable  for  the 
loss  of  my  dress,  though  it  was  my  best  silk ;  but  I 
did  not  feel  that  I  could  endure  the  scene.  In  my 
consternation,  I  forgot  to  thank  the  gentleman,  to 
whom  I  now  make  this  public  apology  and  ex- 
planation. I  at  length  managed  to  lift  the  window 
about  an  inch  and  a  quarter,  and  held  the  bottle  in 
the  draft,  and  my  peace  as  well  as  I  could. 

I  thought  Melrose  was  the  first  station  from  Bos- 
ton, but  it  was  not.  The  second  one  did  not  sound 
like  Melrose,  and  I  kept  my  seat.  Then  I  began 
to  fear  that  I  had  missed  it,  so  I  compromised  with 
my  principles,  and  asked  my  seat-mate  if  he  knew 
which  station  from  Boston  Melrose  was.  He  said 
he  did  not,  but  should  know  it  when  he  saw  it. 
By  and  by  he  said  this  was  it.  I  do  not  like  to 
see  people,  particularly  women,  hurry  out  before 
cars  stop,  or  in  before  passengers  are  out,  but  I 
had  many  encumbrances  and  could  not  move  rap- 
idly, so  I  thought  I  would  for  once  take  time  by 
the  forelock  and  just  move  down  the  aisle  to  be 

12*  K 


274  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

near  the  door  when  the  cars  stopped.  I  accord- 
ingly did  so,  and  the  conductor  opened  the  door 
and  shouted,  "  Wy-o-ming  !  "  and,  partly  to  punish 
myself,  and  partly  because  of  the  difficulty  of  re- 
turning to  my  seat,  I  stood  up  in  the  aisle,  covered 
with  shame,  till  we  reached  Melrose. 

My  errand  there  being  performed,  I  returned  to 
the  station  in  ample  time,  —  indeed,  long  before  the 
ticket-office  was  opened.  There  was  a  glass  win- 
dow looking  into  the  ladies'  room,  and  a  corre- 
sponding one  into  the  gentleman's  room.  Presently 
a  large  boy  walked  in  and  established  communica- 
tion between  the  office  and  the  men's  room,  but 
left  ours  alone.  There  were  several  women  in  the 
room,  who  all  seemed  to  take  it  very  coolly,  and  I 
was  not  going  to  be  anxious.  Still,  as  the  time 
passed  and  the  window  was  not  opened,  I  did  think 
it  rather  strange.  By  and  by  the  whistle  began  to 
whistle,  and  the  cars  rushed  in.  I  supposed  they 
must  be  some  branch,  or  extra  train  ;  but  to  make 
certain,  I  said,  carelessly,  to  an  official,  "  This  is 
not  the  Salem  train."  "  Yes,"  was  the  prompt 
reply.  Surprised  into  it,  I  ejaculated,  "Not  the 
Salem  train?"  "Yes,"  with  equal  promptness, 
"  last  car."  I  marched  along  in  a  most  unwilling 
hurry.  I  think  there  must  have  been  at  least  seven 
cars,  and  under  the  pressure  it  seemed  to  me  that 
I  never  should  get  to  the  last  one ;  so  I  thought  I 
would  steal  into  the  nearest,  and  at  the  next  stop- 
ping-place change  to  the  right  one.     I  turned  aside, 


BOSTON  AND  HOME  AGAIN.  <216 

but  the  fellow  called  out,  "  Not  that,  —  the  last  car. 
Be  spry ! "  If  I  had  obeyed  the  impulse  of  the 
natural  heart,  I  should  have  hurled  my  yeast-bottle 
at  him,  telling  me  to  be  "  spry,"  —  me  who  am  fa- 
mous for  my  fleetness  of  foot,  —  telling  me  to  be 
spry  as  if  I  were  a  barefoot  pond-lily  boy  !  My  dig- 
nity and  capacity  were  both  insulted.  I  was  vexed 
with  myself  for  having  disregarded  his  direction, 
and  vexed  with  him  for  having  caught  me  in  it. 
If  I  had  been  sure  that  the  cars  would  wait  for  me, 
I  should  have  loitered,  simply  to  show  a  proper 
spirit ;  but  as  it  was,  there  was  no  time  for  indig- 
nation, and  I  put  my  foot  on  the  step  just  as  the 
cars  started.  But  when  I  went  to  open  the  door, 
there  was  no  door  there.  I  fumbled  and  stared 
and  rubbed  my  eyes,  but  no  open  sesame  will  un- 
lock a  door  that  does  not  exist.  The  conductor 
came  to  the  rescue,  and  directed  me  througii  a 
hide-and-go-seek  chink  passage,  such  as  I  never 
saw  or  heard  of  before,  away  round  on  one  side 
of  the  car.  In  my  perturbation  I  could  n't  find  it 
for  a  while,  and  then  I  could  n't  tell  whether  the 
door  was  at  the  end  or  one  side,  and  he  kept  say- 
ing, "  There,  there !  "  as  if  I  knew  where  "  there  " 
was.  I  meekly  remarked  that  I  did  n't  like  to  get 
in  while  cars- were  going, — a  moral  reflection  which 
I  might  just  as  well  have  spared  him.  He  said 
I  could  n't  fall  off  if  I  tried.  I  knew  I  could, 
for  the  railing  had  only  one  rail,  and  that  was  at 
the  top ;  but  I  was  so  utterly  humiliated  by  such  a 


276  COUNTRY  LIVING, 

series  of  disasters,  that  I  let  him  have  everything 
his  own  way,  and  was  glad  to  drop  into  a  seat  at 
last. 

We  rustics  have  a  phrase  "  starched  up."   When 
we  say  a  man  is  starched  up,  we  do  not  at  all  refer 
to  his  linen,  but  to  his  character.     We  also,  in 
continuance  of  the  same  figure,  talk  of  taking  the 
starch  out  of  him.     That  was  the  way  I  felt.    The 
starch  was  completely  taken  out  of  me.     I  did  not 
become  reglutinated  till  I  impinged  upon  Halicar- 
nassus.     With  him,  whatever  my  feelings  may  be, 
I  find  it  necessary  always  to  maintain  an  aspect  of 
superiority  and  self-satisfaction.     If  I  should  once 
suffer  him  to  see  me  discomfited  by  any  opposing 
force  w^hatever,  I  should  at  once  lose  all  power  over 
him.     The  sole  basis  of  my  authority  is  his  implicit 
belief  in   my   thorough   invulnerability.       There- 
fore, nothing   and   nobody  as  I  felt  myself, 
I  sloughed  it  all  off  when  I  stepped  from 
the  train  and  stood  before  him,  an 
invincible   armada.      My   foot 
was  on  my  native  heath, 
and  my  name  was 
McGregor. 


Brown-Bread  Cakes. 


ASTES  difFer. 

That  is  not  an  original  remark,  but 
it  is  a  true  one.  The  Frenchman  rolls 
as  a  sweet  morsel  under  his  tongue  the 
hind  legs  of  a  frog.  To  the  patriotic  Chinese,  no 
savor  is  so  savory  as  that  which  arises  from  roasted 
mouse  or  broiled  puppy.  The  Esquimaux,  plunged 
into  the  pots  and  kettles  of  civilization,  moans  for 
the  delicious  blubber  and  whale-oil  which  once 
gladdened  his  heart.  Connecticut  delights  in  the 
frying-pan.  Meat,  bread,  rice,  turnovers,  apples, 
potatoes,  hasty-puddings,  "  whatever  goods  the 
gods  provide  her,"  —  and  every  dweller  in  her 
valleys  will  attest  they  are  neither  few  nor  small, 
—  she  casts  incontinently  into  the  sputtering  fat, 
till  Connecticut  joints,  from  constant  lubrication, 
acquire  a  suppleness  which  neither  age,  nor  time, 
nor  travel,  nor  the  burden  of  her  traditionary  nut- 
megs, clocks,  and  hams,  can  overcome. 

But  thou,  O  Massachusetts !  land  of  my  birth, 
and  thrice  and  four  times  land  of  my  love !  queei^ 


278  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

mother  of  men,  reverent  children,  who  turn  to 
thee  from  every  shore,  and  bind  on  thy  brow  the 
laurels  they  learned  from  thee  to  win,  —  will  any 
wanderer  from  thy  sturdy  soil  ever 

"  Forget  the  sky  that  bent  above 
His  childhood,  like  a  dream  of  love  ? 
The  stream  beneath  the  green  hill  flowing, 
The  broad-armed  trees  about  it  growing," 
the  smoke  from  thousand  fires  ascending,  with  fragrant  odors  sweetly- 
blending,  of  thousand  pans,  bright,  glazed,  and  red,  a  thousand  pans 
of  hot  brown-bread  ? 

Nor  is  thy  fame  confined  to  thy  children  alone. 
From  the  lumbering  and  fishing  East  to  the  mias- 
matic and  ague-atic  West,  an  unfortunate  race, 
whose  veins  have  never  throbbed  with  Bay  State 
blood,  who  have  not  sufficient  ingenuity  to  step 
out  of  the  even  tenor  of  their  wheat-bread  way, 
but  whose  stomachs  have  been  endowed  with  a 
sensibility  denied  to  their  brains,  weekly  distend 
their  pliant  throats  with  "  Boston  brown  bread." 

Can  such  a  generation  be  supposed,  in  the  high- 
est flights  of  its  imagination,  ever  to  have  soared 
to  brown-bread  cakes  ?  Is  not  the  attempt  to  rouse, 
in  these  sluggish  minds,  an  enthusiasm  for  the 
ambrosial  food.  Quixotic  to  the  last  degree  ?  Nay, 
is  it  possible  to  introduce  into  their  stolid  souls  any 
conception  of  the  ethereal  flavor  which  penetrates 
my  inmost  frame  when  I  sit  down  to  a  repast  of 
brown-bread  cakes?  Yet,  in  the  great  multitude 
gathered  from  every  nation  under  heaven,  the 
mighty  throng  that  are  making  the  wilderness  of 


Bonnet 

:  Head 

Shoe 

:  Foot 

Bay 

:  Soul 

Canvas 

:  Faces 

Cup 

:  Wine 

Dew 

:  Kose 

Noon 

:  Evening 

Earth 

:  Heaven 

BROWN-BREAD  CAKES.  279 

Ifiis  New  World  to  bud  and  blossom  as  the  rose, 
there  must  needs  be  a  few  who  have  an  eye  for 
the  curve  that  swells  the  luxuriant  sides  of  a  sweet 
potato,  a  nose  to  discern  the  fumes  that  rise,  in- 
cense-like, from  a  fair,  young  beefsteak,  floating 
in  its  own  sapient  juices,  a  soul  to  mount  upwards 
on  the  wings  of  smoking  Mocha ;  and  since 


:  :  Brown-bread  :  Brown-Bread  Cakes; 


or,  less  mathematically,  as  a  beautiful  bonnet  to 
the  beautiful  head  that  bears  it,  or  a  dehcate  satin 
shoe  to  the  delicate  foot  that  wears  it,  as  the  green 
of  the  deathless  bay  to  the  lofty  brow  that  won  it, 
as  the  canvas  is  to  the  faces  that  startingly  glow 
upon  it,  as  the  grace  of  the  golden  cup  to  the 
mantling  wine  that  fills  it,  as  the  quivering  globe 
of  dew  to  the  regal  rose  that  distils  it,  as  the  glare 
of  the  midsummer  noon  to  the  scented  breath  of 
Eden,  as  the  homely  and  kindly  earth  to  the 
grand  and  star-lit  heaven,  —  so  is  the  "  home-felt 
bliss "  which  a  loaf  of  brown  bread  makes,  to 
the  exquisite  thrill  of  delight  arising  from  brown- 
bread  cakes.  Because  of  all  this,  I  will  make  the 
attempt. 

Let  me   give   the    modus    operandi.     Of   fine 


280  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

maize  flour,  yellow  as  the  locks  of  the  lovelV 
Lenore,  take  —  well,  take  enough  —  I  cannot 
tell  exactly  how  much  ;  it  depends  upon  circum- 
stances. Of  fresh  new  milk,  white  as  the  brow 
of  the  charming  Arabella,  take  —  I  don't  know 
exactly  how  much  of  that,  either  ;  it  depends 
upon  circumstances,  particularly  on  the  quantity 
of  meal.  If  you  have  not  new  milk,  take  blue 
milk,  provided  it  be  sweet  ;  or  if  you  have 
none  that  is  sweet,  sour  milk  will  answer  ;  or 
if  "  your  folks  don't  keep  a  cow,"  take  water, 
clear  and  sparkling  as  the  eyes  of  the  peerless 
Amanda ;  but  whether  it  be  milk  or  water,  let  it 
be  scalding  as  the  tears  of  the  outraged  Isabel. 
Of  molasses,  sweet  as  the  tones  of  the  tuneful 
Lisette,  take  —  a  great  deal,  if  it  is  summer,  in 
the  winter  not  quite  so  much  (for  the  reasons 
therefor,  see  Newton's  Treatise  on  the  JExpansive 
Power  of  Fluids^  Vol.  I.  p.  175).  Of  various 
other  substances,  animal,  vegetable,  and  mineral, 
which  it  becomes  not  me  to  mention,  —  first, 
because  I  have  forgotten  what  they  are ;  secondly, 
because  I  never  knew ;  and,  thirdly,  because,  as 
the  immortal  Toots  remarks,  "  it  is  of  no  conse- 
quence," —  take  whatever  seems  good  in  your 
sight,  and  cast  them  too^ether  into  the  kneading- 
trough,  and  knead  with  all  your  might  and  main. 
Provide  yourself,  then,  with  a  tin  plate,  not  bright 
and  new,  for  so  will  your  cakes  be  heavy,  your 
crust  cracked,  and  your  soul  sorrowful,  but  one 


BROWN-BREAD  CAKES.  281 

blackened  by  fire,  and  venerable  with  time,  and 
rough  with  service.  With  your  own  roseate 
fingers  scoop  out  a  portion  of  the  pulpy  mass. 
Fear  not  to  touch  it ;  it  is  soft,  yielding,  and 
plastic,  as  the  heart  of  the  affectionate  Clara. 
Turn  it  lovingly  over  in  your  hands  ;  round  it ; 
mould  it ;  caress  it ;  soften  down  its  asperities  ; 
smooth  off  its  angularities  ;  repress  its  bold  pro- 
tuberances ;  encourage  its  timid  shrinkings  ;  and 
when  it  is  smooth  as  the  velvet  cheek  of  Ida, 
and  oval  as  the  classic  face  of  Helen,  give  one 
"  last,  long,  lingering  look,"  and  lay  it  tenderly 
in  the  swart  arms  of  its  tutelar  plate.  Repeat 
the  process,  until  your  cakes  shall  equal  the  sands 
on  the  sea-shore  or  the  stars  in  the  sky  for  mul- 
titude, or  as  long  as  your  meal  holds  out,  or  till 
you  are  tired.  I  am  prescribing  for  one  only. 
"  Ab  uno  disce  omnes." 

To  the  Stygian  cave  that  yawns  dismally  from 
the  kitchen-stove,  consign  it  without  a  murmur. 
Item :  said  stove  must  have  a  prodigious  crack 
up  and  down  the  front.  A  philosophical  reason 
for  this  I  am  unable  to  give.  I  refer  the  curious 
in  cause  and  effect  to  Galen's  deservedly  cele- 
brated Disquisition  on  the  Relations  of  Fire  and 
Metals^  passim  ;  also  Dehrauche  on  Doughy  p.  35, 
Appendix.  I  only  know  that  the  only  stove 
whence  I  ever  saw  brown-bread  cakes  issue  had 
an  immense  crack  up  and  down  the  front. 

[Since  writing  the  above,  a  new  stove  has  been 


282  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

substituted  for  the  old  one,  and  still  brown-bread 
cakes  are  duly  marshalled  every  morning.  Con- 
sequently, you  need  not  be  particular  about  the 
crack.  Still,  I  would  advise  all  amateurs  to  con- 
sult the  autliorities  I  have  mentioned.  It  will  be 
a  good  exercise.] 

When  your  cake  has  for  a  sufficient  length  of 
time  undergone  the  ordeal  of  fire,  bring  it  again 
to  the  blessed  light  of  day.  If  the  edge  be 
black  and  blistered,  like  a  giant  tree  blasted  by 
the  lightning's  stroke,  or  if  the  crust  be  rent  and 
torn  as  by  internal  convulsions,  cast  it  away.  It 
is  worthless.  Trample  it  under  foot.  Item  :  put 
on  your  stoutest  boots,  and  provide  yourself  with 
cork  soles  ;  otherwise,  the  trampling  may  prove  to 
be  anything  but  an  agreeable  pastime.  But  if  the 
surface  be  a  beautiful  auburn  brown,  crisp,  brittle, 
and  unbroken,  — 

"Joy,  joy,  forever!  your  task  is  done! 
The  gates  are  past,  and  breakfast  is  won  " ;  — 

or,  as  the  clown  said  of  the  apple- dumplings, 
"  Them  's  the  jockeys  for  me." 

If  you  are  an  outside  barbarian,  ignorant  of  the 
refinements  of  civilized  life,  you  will  at  once  pro- 
ceed to  cut  open  with  your  knife  the  steaming 
cake,  as  you  would  an  oyster,  and  thereby  render 
it  heavy  as  the  heart  of  the  weeping  Niobe ;  but 
if  you  are  a  gentleman  and  a  scholar,  you  will 
gently  sunder  its  clinging  sides  without  "armed 
interference,"  and  so  preserve  its  spongy,  porous 


BROWN-BREAD  CAKES.  283 

texture.  To  the  uninitiated,  one  part  is  as  good  as 
another  ;  but  let  me  confidentially  whisper  in  your 
ear,  if  it  should  be  your  duty  to  pass  the  plate, 
present  to  your  neighbor  that  side  which  bears  the 
under-crust,  as  that  is  liable  to  be  burnt  and  un- 
palatable, and  reserve  to  yourself  the  smoothly- 
rounded  upper  crust,  which  is  deliciously  tooth- 
some. Lay  your  portion  on  your  plate,  crust 
downward.  With  your  own  polished  knife  (the 
reason  of  this  you  will  presently  perceive)  carve 
from  the  ball  of  golden  butter  a  lump  of  mag- 
nificent dimensions.  Be  not  niggardly  in  this  re- 
spect. Exercise  toward  yourself  a  large-hearted 
generosity  ;  for  butter  sinks  into  itself,  and  in 
itself  is  lost  with  wonderful  rapidity,  when  it  rests 
on  a  pedestal  of  hot  bread.  Press  your  butter, 
still  adhering  to  your  knife,  down  into  the  warm, 
soft  bread,  in  various  places,  forming  little  wells, 
whose  walls  are  unctuous  with  the  melted  luxury, 
and  then  —  O  then  !  but  I  cannot  sustain  the 
picture  which  my  fancy  has  drawn. 

"  My  eyes  are  dim  with  childish  tears, 
My  heart  is  idly  stirred ; 
For  the  same  sound  is  in  my  ears 
That  in  those  days  I  heard. 

"  Thus  fares  it  still  in  our  decay, 
Yet  mourns  the  wiser  mind 
Less  for  the  crusts  time  takes  away, 
Than  those  he  leaves  behind." 

"  The  bridegroom  may  forget  the  bride 
Was  made  his  wedded  wife  yestreen ; 
The  monarch  may  forget  the  crown 
That  on  his  head  an  hour  hath  been," 


284 


COUNTRY  LIVING. 


but  never,  O  brown-bread  cakes  !  never  may  your 
taste  pass  away  from  my  lips,  your  odor  from 
my  nostrils,  or  your  memory  from  my  heart,  till 
"  my  eyes  shall  be  turned  to  behold,  for  the  last 
time,  the  sun  in  the  heavens." 

"  Et  dulces  moriens  reminiscitur  Argos." 


A  Complaint  of  Friends. 


F  things  would  not  run  into  each  other 
so,  it  would  be  a  thousand  times  easier 
and  a  million  times  pleasanter  to  get 
on  in  the  world.  Let  the  sheepiness 
be  set  on  one  side  and  the  goatiness  on  the  other, 
and  immediately  you  know  where  you  are.  It  is 
not  necessary  to  ask  that  there  be  any  increase  of 
the  one  or  any  diminution  of  the  other,  but  only 
that  each  shall  pre-empt  its  own  territory  and  stay 
there.  Milk  is  good,  and  water  is  good,  but  don't 
set  the  milk-pail  under  the  pump.  Pleasure 
softens  pain,  but  pain  imbitters  pleasure  ;  and  who 
would  not  rather  have  his  happiness  concentrated 
into  one  memorable  day,  that  shall  gleam  and  glow 
through  a  lifetime,  than  have  it  spread  out  over  a 
dozen  comfortable,  commonplace,  humdrum  fore- 
noons and  afternoons,  each  one  as  like  the  others 
as  two  peas  in  a  pod  ?  Since  the  law  of  compen- 
sation obtains,  I  suppose  it  is  the  best  law  for  us  ; 
but  if  it  had  been  left  with  me,  I  should  have 
made  the  clever  people  rich  and  handsome,  and 


286  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

left  poverty  and  ugliness  to  the  stupid  people  ;  be- 
cause —  don't  you  see  ?  —  the  stupid  people  won't 
know  they  are  ugly,  and  won't  care  if  they  are 
poor,  but  the  clever  people  will  be  hampered  and 
tortured.  I  would  have  given  the  good  wives  to 
the  good  husbands,  and  made  drunken  men  marry 
drunken  women.  Then  there  would  have  been 
one  family  exquisitely  happy,  instead  of  two  strug- 
gling against  misery^  I  would  have  made  the  rose- 
stem  downy,  and  put  all  the  thorns  on  the  thistles. 
I  would  have  gouged  out  the  jewel  from  the  toad's 
head,  and  given  the  peacock  the  nightingale's 
voice,  and  not  set  everything  so  at  half  and  half. 

But  that  is  the  way  it  is.  We  find  the  world 
made  to  our  hand.  The  w^ise  men  marry  the  fool- 
ish virgins,  and  the  splendid  virgins  marry  dolts, 
and  matters  in  general  are  so  mixed  up,  that  the 
choice  lies  between  nice  things  about  spoiled,  and 
vile  things  that  are  not  so  bad  after  all,  and  it  is 
hard  to  tell  sometimes  which  you  like  best,  or 
which  you  loathe  least. 

I  expect  to  lose  every  friend  I  have  in  the 
world  by  the  publication  of  this  paper  —  except 
the  dunces  who  are  impaled  in  it.  They  will 
never  read  it,  and  if  they  do,  will  never  suspect 
I  mean  them  ;  while  the  sensible  and  true  friends, 
who  do  me  good  and  not  evil  all  the  days  of  their 
lives,  will  think  I  am  driving  at  their  noble  hearts, 
and  will  at  once  haul  off  and  leave  me  inconsola- 
ble.    Still  I  am  going  to  write  it.     You  must  open 


A    COMPLAINT  OF  FRIENDS.  287 

the  safety-valve  once  in  a  while,  even  if  the  steam 
does  v^hiz  and  shriek,  or  there  will  be  an  explo- 
sion, which  is  fatal,  while  the  whizzing  and  shriek- 
ing are  only  disagreeable. 

Doubtless  friendship  has  its  advantages  and  its 
pleasures  ;  doubtless  hostility  has  its  isolations  and 
its  revenges:  still,  if  called  upon  to  choose  once 
for  all  between  friends  and  foes,  I  think,  on  the 
whole,  I  should  cast  my  vote  for  the  foes.  Twenty 
enemies  will  not  do  you  the  mischief  of  one  friend. 
Enemies  you  always  know  where  to  find.  They 
are  in  fair  and  square  perpetual  hostility,  and  you 
keep  your  armor  on  and  your  sentinels  posted; 
but  with  friends  you  are  inveigled  into  a  false  se- 
curity, and,  before  you  know  it,  your  honor,  your 
modesty,  your  delicacy  are  scudding  before  the 
gales.  Moreover,  with  your  friend  you  can  never 
make  reprisals.  If  your  enemy  attacks  you,  you 
can  always  strike  back  and  hit  hard.  You  are 
expected  to  defend  yourself  against  him  to  the 
top  of  your  bent.  He  is  your  legal  opponent  in 
honorable  warfare.  You  can  pour  hot-shot  into 
him  with  murderous  vigor ;  and  the  more  he 
wriggles,  the  better  you  feel.  In  fact,  it  is  rather 
refreshing  to  measure  swords  once  in  a  while 
with  such  a  one.  You  like  to  exert  your  power 
and  keep  yourself  in  practice.  You  do  not  re- 
joice so  much  in  overcoming  your  enemy  as  in 
overcoming.  If  a  marble  statue  could  show  fight, 
you  would  just  as  soon  fight  it ;  but  as  it  cannot, 


288  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

you  take  something  that  can,  and  something,  be- 
sides, that  has  had  the  temerity  to  attack  you, 
and  so  has  made  a  lawful  target  of  itself.  But 
against  your  friend  your  hands  are  tied.  He  has 
injured  you.  He  has  disgusted  you.  He  has  in- 
furiated you.  But  it  was  most  Christianly  done. 
You  cannot  hurl  a  thunderbolt,  or  pull  a  trigger, 
or  lisp  a  syllable,  against  those  amiable  monsters 
who  with  tenderest  fingers  are  sticking  pins  all 
over  you.  So  you  shut  fast  the  doors  of  your 
lips,  and  inwardly  sigh  for  a  good,  stout,  brawny, 
malignant  foe,  who,  under  any  and  every  cir- 
cumstance, will  design  you  harm,  and  on  whom 
you  can  lavish  your  lusty  blows  with  a  hearty 
will  and  a  clear  conscience. 

Your  enemy  keeps  clear  of  you.  He  neither 
grants  nor  claims  favors.  He  awards  you  your 
rights,  —  no  more,  no  less,  —  and  demands  the 
•same  from  yoif.  Consequently  there  is  no  fric- 
tion. Your  friend,  on  the  contrary,  is  continually 
getting  himself  tangled  up  with  you  "  because 
he  is  your  friend."  I  have  heard  that  Shelley 
was  never  better  pleased  than  when  his  associ- 
ates made  free  with  his  coats,  boots,  and  hats  for 
their  own  use,  and  that  he  appropriated  their 
property  in  the  same  way.  Shelley  was  a  poet, 
and  perhaps  idealized  his  friends.  He  saw  them, 
probably,  in  a  state  of  pure  intellect.  I  am  not 
a  poet;  I  look  at  people  in  the  concrete.  The 
most    obvious    thing    about    my    friends  is  their 


A   COMPLAINT  OF  FRIENDS.  289 

avoirdupois  ;  and  I  prefer  that  they  should  wear 
their  own  cloaks  and  suffer  me  to  wear  mine. 
There  is  no  neck  in  the  world  that  I  want  my 
collar  to  span  except  my  own.  It  is  very  ex- 
asperating to  me  to  go  to  my  bookcase  and  miss 
a  book  of  which  I  am  in  immediate  and  pressing 
need,  because  an  intimate  friend  has  carried  it 
off  without  asking  leave,  on  the  score  of  his  in- 
timacy. I  have  not,  and  do  not  wish  to  have, 
any  alliance  that  shall  abrogate  the  eighth  com- 
mandment. A  great  mistake  is  lying  round  loose 
hereabouts,  —  a  mistake  fatal  to  many  friendships 
that  did  run  well.  The  common  fallacy  is,  that 
intimacy  dispenses  with  the  necessity  of  politeness. 
The  truth  is  just  the  opposite  of  this.  The  more 
points  of  contact  there  are,  the  more  danger  of 
friction  there  is,  and  the  more  carefully  should 
people  guard  against  it.  If  you  see  a  man  only 
once  a  month,  it  is  not  of  so  vital  importance  that 
you  do  not  trench  on  his  rights,  tastes,  or  whims. 
He  can  bear  to  be  crossed  or  annoyed  occasion- 
ally. If  he  does  not  have  a  very  high  regard  for 
you,  it  is  comparatively  unimportant,  because 
your  paths  are  generally  so  diverse.  But  you 
and  the  man  with  whom  you  dine  every  day 
have  it  in  your  power  to  make  each  other  ex- 
ceedingly uncomfortable.  A  very  little  dropping 
wnll  wear  away  rock,  if  it  only  keep  at  it.  The 
thing  that  you  would  not  think  of,  if  it  occurred 
only  twice  a  year,  becomes  an  intolerable  burden 

13  s 


290  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

wlien  it  happens  twice  a  day.  This  is  where 
husbands  and  wives  run  aground.  They  take  too 
much  for  granted.  If  they  would  but  see  that 
they  have  something  to  gain,  something  to  save, 
as  well  as  something  to  enjoy,  it  would  be  better 
for  them  ;  but  they  proceed  on  the  assumption 
that  their  love  is  an  inexhaustible  tank,  and  not 
a  fountain  depending  for  its  supply  on  the  stream 
that  trickles  into  it.  So,  for  every  little  annoying 
habit,  or  weakness,  or  fault,  they  draw"  on  the 
tank,  without  being  careful  to  keep  the  supply 
open,  till  they  awake  one  morning  to  find  the 
pump  dry,  and,  instead  of  love,  at  best,  nothing 
but  a  cold  habit  of  complacence.  On  the  con- 
trary, the  more  intimate  friends  become,  whether 
married  or  unmarried,  the  more  scrupulously 
should  they  strive  to  repress  in  themselves  every- 
thing annoying,  and  to  cherish  both  in  them- 
selves and  each  other  everything  pleasing.  While 
each  should  draw  on  his  love  to  neutralize  the 
faults  of  his  friend,  it  is  suicidal  to  draw  on  his 
friend's  love  to  neutralize  his  own  faults.  Love 
should  be  cumulative,  since  it  cannot  be  station- 
ary. If  it  does  not  increase,  it  decreases.  Love, 
like  confidence,  is  a  plant  of  slow  growth,  and  of 
most  exotic  fragility.  It  must  be  constantly  and 
tenderly  cherished.  Every  noxious  and  foreign 
element  must  be  carefully  removed  from  it.  All 
sunshine,  and  sweet  airs,  and  morning  dews,  and 
evening  showers,  must  breathe  upon  it  perpetual 


A    COMPLAINT  OF  FRIENDS.  291 

fragrance,  or  it  dies  into  a  hideous  and  repulsive 
deformity,  fit  only  to  be  cast  out  and  trodden 
under  foot  of  men,  while,  properly  cultivated,  it 
is  a  Tree  of  Life. 

Your  enemy  keeps  clear  of  you,  not  only  in  busi- 
ness, but  in  society.  If  circumstances  thrust  him 
into  contact  with. you,  he  is  curt  and  centrifugal. 
But  your  friend  breaks  in  upon  your  "  saintly 
solitude  "  with  perfect  equanimity.  He  never  for 
a  monlent  harbors  a  suspicion  that  he  can  intrude, 
"  because  he  is  your  friend."  So  he  drops  in  on 
his  way  to  the  office  to  chat  half  an  hour  over  the 
latest  news.  The  half-hour  is  n't  much  in  itself. 
If  it  were  after  dinner,  you  would  n't  mind  it ; 
but  after  breakfast  every  moment  "  runs  itself  in 
golden  sands,"  and  the  break  in  your  time  crashes 
a  worse  break  in  your  temper.  "  Are  you  busy  ?  " 
asks  the  considerate  wretch,  adding  insult  to  in- 
jury. What  can  you  do  ?  Say  yes,  and  wound 
his  self-love  forever?  But  he  has  a  wife  and 
family.  You  respect  their  feelings,  smile  and  smile, 
and  are  villain  enough  to  be  civil  with  your  lips, 
and  hide  the  poison  of  asps  under  your  tongue, 
till  you  have  a  chance  to  relieve  your  o'ercharged 
heart  by  shaking  your  fist  in  impotent  wrath  at 
his  retreating  form.  You  will  receive  the  reward 
of  your  hypocrisy,  as  you  richly  deserve,  for  ten  to 
one  he  will  drop  in  again  when  he  comes  back  from 
his  office,  and  arrest  you  wandering  in  Dreamland 
in  the  beautiful  twilight.     Delic;hted  to  find  that 


292  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

you  are  neither  reading  nor  writing,  —  the  absura 
dolt !  as  if  a  man  were  n't  at  work  unless  he  be 
wielding  a  sledge-hammer  !  —  he  will  preach  out, 
and  prose  out,  and  twaddle  out  another  hour  of 
your  golden  eventide,  "  because  he  is  your  friend." 
You  don't  care  whether  he  is  judge  or  jury,  — 
whether  he  talks  sense  or  nonsense;  you  don't 
want  him  to  talk  at  all.  You  don't  want  him 
there  any  way.  You  want  to  be  alone.  If  you 
don't,  why  are  you  sitting  there  in  the  deepening 
twilight  ?  If  you  wanted  him,  could  n't  you  send 
for  him  ?  Why  don't  you  go  out  into  the  draw- 
ing-room, where  are  music,  and  lights,  and  gay 
people  ?  What  right  have  I  to  suppose,  that,  be- 
cause you  are  not  using  your  eyes,  you  are  not 
using  your  brain  ?  What  right  have  I  to  set  my- 
self up  as  judge  of  the  value  of  your  time,  and  so 
rob  you  of  perhaps  the  most  delicious  hour  in  all 
your  day,  on  pretence  that  it  is  of  no  use  to  you  ? 

—  take  a  pound  of  flesh  clean  out  of  your  heart, 
and  trip  on  my  smiling  way  as  if  I  had  not  earned 
the  gallows  ? 

And  what  in  Heaven's  name  is  the  good  of  all 
this  ceaseless  talk  ?  To  what  purpose  are  you 
wearied,  exhausted,  dragged  out  and  out  to  the 
very  extreme  of  tenuity  ?     A  sprightly  badinage, 

—  a  running  fire  of  nonsense  for  half  an  hour,  — 
a  tramp  over  unfamiliar  ground  with  a  familiar 
guide,  —  a  discussion  of  something  with  somebody 
who   knows  all  about  it,   or  who,  not  knowing, 


A   COMPLAINT  OF  FRIENDS.  293 

wants  to  learn  from  you,  —  a  pleasant  interchange 
of  commonplaces  with  a  circle  of  friends  around 
the  fire,  at  such  hours  as  you  give  to  society :  all 
this  is  not  only  tolerable,  but  agreeable,  —  often 
positively  delightful  ;  but  to  have  an  indifferent 
person,  on  no  score  but  that  of  friendship,  break 
into  your  sacred  presence,  and  suck  your  blood 
through  indefinite  cycles  of  time,  is  an  abomina- 
tion. If  he  clatters  on  an  indifferent  subject,  you 
can  do  well  enough  for  fifteen  minutes,  buoyed  up 
by  the  hope  that  he  will  presently  have  a  fit,  or  be 
sent  for,  or  come  to  some  kind  of  an  end.  But 
when  you  gradually  open  to  the  conviction  that 
vis  inertice  rules  the  hour,  and  the  thing  which  has 
been  is  that  which  shall  be,  you  wax  listless  ;  your 
chariot-wheels  drive  heavily ;  your  end  of  the  pole 
drags  in  the  mud,  and  you  speedily  wallow  in  un- 
mitigated disgust.  If  he  broaches  a  subject  on 
which  you  have  a  real  and  deep  living  interest, 
you  shrink  from  unbosoming  yourself  to  him.  You 
feel  that  it  would  be  sacrilege.  He  feels  nothing 
of  the  sort.  He  treads  over  your  heart-strings  in 
his  cow-hide  brogans,  and  does  not  see  that  they 
are  not  whip-cords.  He  pokes  his  gold-headed 
cane  in  among  your  treasures,  blind  to  the  fact 
that  you  are  clutching  both  arms  around  them,  that 
no  gleam  of  flashing  gold  may  reveal  their  where- 
abouts to  him.  You  draw  yourself  up  in  your 
shell,  projecting  a  monosyllabic  claw  occasionally 
as  a  sign  of  continued  vitality ;  but  the  pachyderm 


294  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

does  not  withdraw,  and  you  gradually  lower  into 
an  indignation,  —  smothered,  fierce,  intense. 

Why,  ivhy^  why  will  people  inundate  their  un- 
fortunate victims  with  such  "  weak,  washy,  ever- 
lasting floods  "  ?  Why  will  they  haul  everything 
out  into  the  open  day  ?  Why  will  they  make  the 
Holy  of  Holies  common  and  unclean  ?  Why  will 
they  be  so  ineffably  stupid  as  not  to  see  that  there 
is  that  which  speech  profanes  ?  Why  will  they 
lower  their  drag-nets  into  the  unfathomable  waters, 
in  the  vain  attempt  to  bring  up  your  pearls  and 
gems,  whose  lustre  would  pale  to  ashes  in  the 
garish  liglit,  —  whose  only  sparkle  is  the  deep  sea- 
soundings  ?     Frocul,  0  procul  este,  profani  ! 

O,  the  matchless  power  of  silence  !  There  are 
words  that  concentrate  in  themselves  the  glory  of 
a  lifetime ;  but  there  is  a  silence  that  is  more  pre- 
cious than  they.  Speech  ripples  over  the  surface 
of  life,  but  silence  sinks  into  its  depths.  Airy 
pleasantnesses  bubble  up  in  airy,  pleasant  words. 
Weak  sorrows  quaver  out  their  shallow  being,  and 
are  not.  When  the  heart  is  cleft  to  its  core,  there 
is  no  speech  nor  language. 

Do  not  now,  Messrs.  Bores,  think  to  retrieve 
your  characters  by  coming  into  my  house  and  sit- 
ting mute  for  two  hours.  Heaven  forbid  that  your 
blood  should  be  found  on  my  skirts  !  but  I  believe 
I  shall  kill  you,  if  you  do.  The  only  reason  why 
I  have  not  laid  violent  hands  on  you  heretofore  is 
that  your  vapid  talk  has  operated  as  a  wire  to  con- 


A   COMPLAINT  OF  FRIENDS.  295 

duct  my  electricity  to  the  receptive  and  kindly 
earth  ;  but  if  you  intrude  upon  my  magnetisms 
without  any  such  life-preserver,  your  future  in  this 
world  is  not  worth  a  crossed  sixpence.  Your 
silence  would  break  the  reed  that  your  talk  but 
bruised.  The  only  people  with  whom  it  is  a  joy 
to  sit  silent  are  the  people  with  whom  it  is  a  joy  to 
talk.     Clear  out ! 

Friendship  plays  the  mischief  in  the  false  ideas 
of  constancy  which  are  generated  and  cherished  in 
its  name,  if  not  by  its  agency.  Your  enemies  are 
intense,  but  temporary.  Time  wears  off  the  edge 
of  hostility.  It  is  the  alembic  in  which  offences 
are  dissolved  into  thin  air,  and  a  calm  indifference 
reigns  in  their  stead.  But  your  friends  are  ex- 
pected to  be  a  permanent  arrangement.  They 
are  not  only  a  sore  evil,  but  of  long  continuance. 
Adhesiveness  seems  to  be  the  head  and  front,  the 
bones  and  blood,  of  their  creed.  It  is  not  the  direc- 
tion of  the  quality,  but  the  quality  itself,  which 
they  swear  by.  Only  stick,  it  is  no  matter  what 
you  stick  to.  Fall  out  with  a  man,  and  you  can 
kiss  and  be  friends  as  soon  as  you  like  ;  the  re- 
cording angel  will  set  it  down  on  the  credit  side 
of  his  books.  Fall  in,  and  you  are  expected  to  stay 
in,  ad  infinitum,  ad  nauseam.  No  matter  what 
combination  of  laws  got  you  there,  there  you  are, 
and  there  you  must  stay,  for  better,  for  worse,  till 
merciful  Death  you  do  part,  —  or  you  are  —  "  fic- 
kle."    You  find  a  man  entertaining  for  an  hour,  a 


296  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

week,  a  concert,  a  journey,  and  presto  !  you  are 
saddled  with  him  forever.  What  preposterous  ab- 
surdity !  Do  but  look  at  it  calmly.  You  are 
thrown  into  contact  with  a  person,  and,  as  in  duty 
bound,  you  proceed  to  fathom  him  :  for  every  man 
is  a  possible  revelation.  In  the  deeps  of  his  soul 
there  may  lie  unknown  worlds  for  you.  Conse- 
quently you  proceed  at  once  to  experiment  on  him. 
It  takes  a  little  while  to  get  your  tackle  in  order. 
Then  the  line  begins  to  run  off  rapidly,  and  your 
eager  soul  cries  out,  "  Ah  !  what  depth  !  What 
perpetual  calmness  must  be  down  below  !  What 
rest  is  here  for  all  my  tumult !  What  a  grand, 
vast  nature  is  this  ! "  Surely,  surely,  you  are  on 
the  high  seas.  Surely,  you  will  now  float  serenely 
down  the  eternities  I  But  by  and  by  there  is  a 
kink.  You  find,  that,  though  the  line  runs  off  so 
fast,  it  does  not  go  down,  —  it  only  floats  out.  A 
current  has  caught  it  and  bears  it  on  horizontally. 
It  does  not  sink  plumb.  You  have  been  deceived. 
Your  grand  Pacific  Ocean  is  nothing  but  a  shal- 
low little  brook,  that  you  can  ford  all  the  year 
round,  if  it  does  not  utterly  dry  up  in  the  summer 
heats,  when  you  want  it  most ;  or,  at  best,  it  is  a 
fussy  little  tormenting  river,  that  won't  and  can't 
sail  a  sloop.  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ? 
You  are  going  to  wind  up  your  lead  and  line, 
shoulder  your  birch  canoe,  as  the  old  sea-kings 
used,  and  thrid  the  deep  forests,  and  scale  the  pur- 
ple hills,  till  you  come  to  water  again,  when  you 


A   COMPLAINT  OF  FRIENDS.  297 

will  unroll  your  lead  and  line  for  another  essay. 
Is  that  fickleness  ?  What  else  can  you  do  ?  Must 
you  launch  your  bark  on  the  unquiet  stream, 
against  whose  pebbly  bottom  the  keel  continually 
grates  and  rasps  your  nerves  —  simply  that  your 
reputation  suffer  no  detriment  ?  Fickleness  ? 
There  was  no  fickleness  about  it.  You  were 
trying  an  experiment  which  you  had  every  right  to 
try.  As  soon  as  you  were  satisfied,  you  stopped. 
If  you  had  stopped  sooner,  you  would  have  been 
unsatisfied.  If  you  had  stopped  later,  you  would 
have  been  dissatisfied.  It  is  a  criminal  contempt 
of  the  magnificent  possibilities  of  life  not  to  lay 
hold  of  "  God's  occasions  floating  by."  It  is  an 
equally  criminal  perversion  of  them  to  cling  tena- 
ciously to  what  was  only  the  simulacrum  of  an 
occasion.  A  man  will  toil  many  days  and  nights 
among  the  mountains  to  find  an  ingot  of  gold, 
which,  found,  he  bears  home  with  infinite  pains 
and  just  rejoicing;  but  he  would  be  a  fool  who 
should  lade  his  mules  with  iron-pyrites  to  justify 
his  labors,  however  severe. 

Fickleness  !  what  is  it,  that  we  make  such  an 
ado  about  it?  And  what  is  constancy,  that  it 
commands  such  usurious  interest  ?  The  one  is  a 
foible  only  in  its  relations.  The  other  is  only 
thus  a  virtue.  "  Fickle  as  the  winds  "  is  our 
death-seal  upon  a  man  ;  but  should  we  like  our 
winds  unfickle  ?  Would  a  perpetual  North- 
easter lay  us  open  to  perpetual  gratitude?  or  is 

13* 


298  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

a  soft   South   gale  to  be   orisoned  and   vespered 
forevermore  ? 

I  am  tired  of  this  eternal  prating  of  devotion 
and  constancy.  It  is  senseless  in  itself  and  harm- 
ful in  its  tendencies.  The  dictate  of  reason  is  to 
treat  men  and  women  as  we  do  oranges.  Suck 
all  the  juice  out  and  then  let  them  go.  Where  is 
the  good  of  keeping  the  peel  and  pulp-cells  till 
they  get  old,  dry,  and  mouldy?  Let  them  go, 
and  they  will  help  feed  the  earth-worms  and  bugs 
and  beetles  who  can  hardly  find  existence  a  con- 
tinued banquet,  and  fertilize  the  earth  which  will 
have  you  give  before  you  receive.  Thus  they  will 
ultimately  spring  up  in  new  and  beautiful  shapes. 
Clung  to  with  constancy,  they  stain  your  knife 
and  napkin,  impart  a  bad  odor  to  your  dining- 
room,  and  degenerate  into  something  that  is  nei- 
ther pleasant  to  the  eye  nor  good  for  food.  I 
believe  in  a  rotation  of  crops,  morally  and  socially, 
as  well  as  agriculturally.  When  you  have  taken 
the  measure  of  a  man,  when  you  have  sounded 
him  and  know  that  you  cannot  wade  in  him  more 
than  ankle-deep,  when  you  have  got  out  of  him 
all  that  he  has  to  yield  for  your  soul's  sustenance 
and  strength,  what  is  the  next  thing  to  be  done  ? 
Obviously,  pass  him  on ;  and  turn  you  "  to  fresh 
woods  and  pastures  new."  Do  you  work  him  an 
injury  ?  By  no  means.  Friends  that  are  simply 
glued  on,  and  don't  grow  out  of,  are  little  worth. 
He  has  nothing  more  for  you,  nor  you  for  him ; 


A    COMPLAINT  OF  FRIENDS.  299 

but  he  may  be  rich  in  juices  wherewithal  to  nour- 
ish the  heart  of  another  man,  and  their  two  hves, 
set  together,  may  have  an  endosmose  and  exos- 
mose  whose  result  shall  be  richness  of  soil,  grand- 
eur of  growth,  beauty  of  foliage,  and  perfectness 
of  fruit ;  while  you  and  he  would  only  have  lan- 
guished into  aridity  and  a  stunted  crab-tree. 

For  my  part,  I  desire  to  sweep  off  my  old 
friends  with  the  old  year,  and  begin  the  new  with 
a  clean  record.  It  is  a  measure  absolutely  neces- 
sary. The  snake  does  not  put  on  his  new  skin 
over  the  old  one.  He  sloughs  off  the  first,  before 
he  dons  the  second.  He  would  be  a  very  clumsy 
serpent,  if  he  did  not.  One  cannot  have  succes- 
sive layers  of  friendships  any  more  than  the  snake 
has  successive  layers  of  skins.  One  must  adopt 
some  system  to  guard  against  a  congestion  of  the 
heart  from  plethora  of  loves.  I  go  in  for  the 
much-abused  fair-weather,  skin-deep,  April-shower 
friends,  —  the  friends  who  will  drop  off,  if  let 
alone,  —  who  must  be  kept  awake  to  be  kept  at 
all,  —  who  will  talk  and  laugh  with  you  as  long 
as  it  suits  your  respective  humors  and  you  are 
prosperous  and  liappy,  —  the  blessed  butterfly-race 
who  flutter  about  your  June  mornings,  and  when 
the  clouds  lower,  and  the  drops  patter,  and  the 
rains  descend,  and  the  Avinds  blow,  will  spread 
their  gay  wings  and  float  gracefully  away  to  sunny 
Southern  lands,  where  the  skies  are  yet  blue  and 
the   breezes    violet-scented.     They   are    not  only 


300  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

agreeable,  but  deeply  wise.  So  long  as  a  man 
keeps  his  streamer  flying,  his  sails  set,  and  his  hull 
above  water,  it  is  pleasant  to  paddle  alongside  ; 
but  when  the  sails  split,  the  yards  crack,  and  the 
keel  goes  staggering  down,  by  all  means  paddle 
off.  Why  should  you  be  submerged  in  his  whirl- 
pool? Will  he  drown  any  more  easily  because 
you  are  drowning  with  him  ?  Lung  is  lung.  He 
dies  from  want  of  air,  not  from  want  of  sympathy. 
When  a  poor  fellow  sits  dowi;i  among  the  ashes, 
the  best  thing  his  friends  can  do  is  to  stand  afar 
off.  Job  bore  the  loss  of  property,  children,  health, 
with  equanimity.  Satan  himself  found  his  match 
there  ;  and  for  all  his  buffe tings,  Job  sinned  not, 
nor  charged  God  foolishly.  But  Job's  three  friends 
must  needs  make  an  appointment  together  to  come 
and  mourn  wn'th  him  and  to  comfort  him,  and  after 
this  Job  opened  his  mouth,  and  cursed  his  day,  — 
and  no  wonder. 

Your  friends  have  an  intimate  knowledge  of  you 
that  is  astonishing  to  contemplate.  It  is  not  that 
they  know  your  affairs,  which  he  who  runs  may 
read,  but  they  know  you.  From  a  bit  of  bone, 
Cuvier  could  predicate  a  whole  animal,  even  to 
the  hide  and  hair.  Such  moral  naturalists  are 
your  dear  five  hundred  friends.  It  seems  to  your- 
self that  you  are  immeasurably  reticent.  You 
know,  of  a  certainty,  that  you  project  only  the 
smallest  possible  fragment  of  yourself.  You  yield 
your  universality  to  the  bond  of  common  brother- 


A    COMPLAINT  OF  FRIENDS.  301 

hood  ;  but  your  individualism  —  what  it  is  that 
makes  you  you  —  withdraws  itself  naturally,  invol- 
untarily, inevitably,  into  the  background,  —  the 
dim  distance  which  their  eyes  cannot  penetrate. 
But,  from  the  fraction  which  you  do  project,  they 
construct  another  you,  call  it  by  your  name,  and 
pass  it  around  for  the  real,  the  actual  you.  You 
bristle  with  jest  and  laughter  and  wild  whims,  to 
keep  them  at  a  distance;  and  they  fancy  this  to 
be  your  e very-day  equipment.  They  think  your 
life  holds  constant  carnival.  It  is  astonishing  what 
ideas  spring  up  in  the  heads  of  sensible  people. 
There  are  those  who  assume  that  a  person  can 
never  have  had  any  grief,  unless  somebody  has 
died,  or  he  has  been  disappointed  in  love,  —  not 
knowing  that  every  avenue  of  joy  lies  open  to  the 
tramp  of  pain.  They  see  the  flashing  coronet  on 
the  queen's  brow,  and  they  infer  a  diamond  wo- 
man, not  recking  of  the  human  heart  that  throbs 
wildly  out  of  sight.  They  see  the  foam-crest  on 
the  wave,  and  picture  an  Atlantic  Ocean  of  froth, 
and  not  the  solemn  sea  that  stands  below  in  eter- 
nal equipoise.  You  turn  to  them  the  luminous 
crescent  of  your  life,  and  they  call  it  the  whole 
round  globe  ;  and  so  they  love  you  with  a  love 
that  is  agate,  not  pearl,  because  what  they  love 
in  you  is  something  infinitely  below  the  highest. 
They  love  you  level :  they  have  never  scaled  your 
heights  nor  fathomed  yoiir  depths.  And  when 
they  talk  of  you  as  familiarly  as  if  they  had  taken 


302  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

out  your  auricles  and  ventricles,  and  turned  them 
inside  out,  and  wrung  them,  and  shaken  them,  — . 
when  they  prate  of  your  transparency  and  open- 
ness, the  abandonment  with  which  you  draw  aside 
the  curtain  and  reveal  the  inmost  thoughts  of  your 
heart,  —  you,  who  are  to  yourself  a  miracle  and  a 
mystery,  you  smile  inwardly,  and  are  content. 
They  are  on  the  wrong  scent,  and  you  may  pur- 
sue your  plans  in  peace.  They  are  indiscriminate 
and  satisfied.  They  do  not  know  the  relation  of 
what  appears  to  what  is.  If  they  chance  to  skirt 
along  the  coasts  of  your  Purple  Island,  it  will  be 
only  chance,  and  they  will  not  know  it.  You  may 
close  your  portholes,  lower  your  drawbridge,  and 
make  merry,  for  they  will  never  come  within  gun- 
shot of  the  "  Round  Tower  of  your  heart." 

There  is  no  such  thing  as  knowing  a  man  in- 
timately. Every  soul  is,  for  the  greater  part 
of  its  mortal  life,  isolated  from  every  other. 
Whether  it  dwell  in  the  Garden  of  Eden  or  the 
Desert  of  Sahara,  it  dwells  alone.  Not  only  do 
we  jostle  against  the  street-crowd  unknowing 
and  unknown,  but  we  go  out  and  come  in, 
we  lie  down  and  rise  up,  with  strangers.  Jupi- 
ter and  Neptune  sweep  the  heavens  not  more 
unfamiliar  to  us  than  the  worlds  that  circle  our 
own  hearth-stone.  Day  after  day,  and  year  after 
year,  a  person  moves  by  your  side  ;  he  sits  at 
the  same  table ;  he  reads  the  same  books ;  he 
kneels    in   the    same    church.     You   know  every 


A    COMPLAINT  OF  FRIENDS.  303 

hair  of  his  head,  every  trick  of  his  hps,  every 
tone  of  his  voice ;  you  can  tell  him  far  off  by  his 
gait.  Without  seeing  him,  you  recognize  his 
step,  his  knock,  his  laugh.  "  Know  him  ?  Yes, 
I  have  known  him  these  twenty  years."  No, 
you  don't  know  him.  You  know  his  gait,  and 
hair,  and  voice.  You  know  what  preacher  he 
hears,  what  ticket  he  voted,  and  what  were  his 
last  year's  expenses  ;  but  you  don't  know  him. 
He  sits  quietly  in  his  chair,  but  he  is  in  the 
temple.  You  speak  to  him ;  his  soul  comes  out 
into  the  vestibule  to  answer  you,  and  returns,  — 
and  the  gates  are  shut ;  therein  you  cannot 
enter.  You  were  discussing  the  state  of  the 
country;  but  when  you  ceased,  he  opened  a 
postern-gate,  went  down  a  bank,  and  launched 
on  a  sea  over  whose  waters  you  have  no  boat 
to  sail,  no  star  to  guide.  You  have  loved  and 
reverenced  him.  He  has  been  your  concrete  of 
truth  and  nobleness.  Unwittingly  you  touch  a 
secret  spring,  and  a  Blue-Beard  Chamber  stands 
revealed.  You  give  no  sign  ;  you  meet  and  part 
as  usual ;  but  a  Dead  Sea  rolls  between  you  two 
for  evermore. 

It  must  be  so.  Not  even  to  the  nearest  and 
dearest  can  one  unveil  the  secret  place  where 
his  soul  abideth,  so  that  there  shall  be  no  more 
any  winding  ways  or  hidden  chambers  ;  but  to 
your  indifferent  neighbor,  what  blind  alleys,  and 
deep  caverns,    and   inaccessible    mountains !      To 


304  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

him  who  "  touches  the  electric  chain  wherewith 
you're  darkly  bound,"  your  soul  sends  back  an 
answering  thrill.  One  little  window  is  opened, 
and  there  is  short  parley.  Your  ships  speak 
each  other  now  and  then  in  welcome,  though 
imperfect  communication  ;  but  immediately  you 
strike  out  again  into  the  great,  shoreless  sea, 
over  which  you  must  sail  forever  alone.  You 
may  shrink  from  the  far-reaching  solitudes  of 
your  heart,  but  no  other  foot  than  yours  can 
tread  them,  save  those 

"  That,  eighteen  hundred  years  ago,  were  nailed, 
For  our  advantage,  to  the  bitter  cross." 

Be  thankful  that  it  is  so,  —  that  only  His  eye 
sees  whose  hand  formed.  If  we  could  look  in, 
we  should  be  appalled  at  the  vision.  The  worlds 
that  glide  around  us  are  mysteries  too  high  for 
us.  We  cannot  attain  to  them.  The  naked  soul 
is  a  sight  too  awful  for  man  to  look  at  and  live. 
There  are  individuals  whose  topography  we  would 
like  to  know  a  little  better,  and  there  is  danger 
that  we  crash  against  each  other  while  roaming 
around  in  the  dark;  but,  for  all  that,  would  we 
not  have  the  Constitution  broken  up.  Somebody 
says,  '*  In  heaven  there  will  be  no  secrets," 
which,  it  seems  to  me,  would  be  intolerable.  (If 
that  were  a  revelation  from  the  King  of  Heaven, 
of  course  I  would  not  speak  flij^pantly  of  it ;  but 
though  towards  Heaven  we  look  with  reverence 
and    humble   hope,    I   do   not   know   that  Tom, 


A   COMPLAINT   OF  FRIENDS.  305 

Dick,  and  Harry's  notions  of  it  have  any  special 
claim  to  our  respect.)  Such  publicity  would  de- 
stroy all  individuality,  and  undermine  the  foun 
dations  of  society.  Clairvoyance  —  if  there  bo 
any  such  thing  —  always  seemed  to  me  a  stupid 
impertinence.  When  people  pay  visits  to  me, 
I  wish  them  to  come  to  the  front-door,  and  ring 
the  bell,  and  send  up  their  names.  I  don't 
wish  them  to  climb  in  at  the  window,  or  creep 
through  the  pantry,  or,  worst  of  all,  float  through 
the  keyhole,  and  catch  me  in  undress.  So  I  be- 
lieve that  in  all  worlds  thoughts  will  be  the  sub- 
jects of  volition,  —  more  accurately  expressed 
when  expression  is  desired,  but  just  as  entirely 
suppressed  when  we  will  suppression. 

After  all,  perhaps  the  chief  trouble  arises  from 
a  prevalent  confusion  of  ideas  as  to  what  consti- 
tutes a  man  your  friend.  Friendship  may  stand 
for  that  peaceful  complacence  which  you  feel 
towards  all  well-behaved  people  who  wear  clean 
collars  and  use  tolerable  grammar.  This  is  a 
very  good  meaning,  if  everybody  will  subscribe 
to  it.  But  sundry  of  these  well-behaved  people 
will  mistake  your  civility  and  complacence  for 
a  recognition  of  special  affinity,  and  proceed  at 
once  to  frame  an  alliance  offensive  and  defensive 
while  the  sun  and  the  moon  shall  endure.  O, 
the  barnacles  that  cling  to  your  keel  in  such 
waters  I  The  inevitable  result  is,  that  they  win 
your  intense  rancor.      You    would  feel    a   genial 


306  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

kindliness  towards  them,  if  they  would  be  satis- 
fied with  that ;  but  they  lay  out  to  be  your  spe- 
cialty. They  infer  your  innocent  little  inch  to 
be  the  standard-bearer  of  twenty  ells,  and  goad 
you  to  frenzy.  I  mean  you,  you  desperate  little 
horror,  who  nearly  dethroned  my  reason  six 
years  ago !  I  always  meant  to  have  my  re- 
venge, and  here  I  impale  you  before  the  public. 
For  three  months,  you  fastened  yourself  upon 
me,  and  I  could  not  shake  you  off.  What  availed 
it  me,  that  you  were  an  honest  and  excellent 
man  ?  Did  I  not,  twenty  times  a  day,  wish  you 
had  been  a  villain,  who  had  insulted  me,  and  I  a 
Kentucky  giant,  that  I  might  have  the  unspeak- 
able satisfaction  of  knocking  you  down  ?  But 
you  added  to  your  crimes  virtue.  Villany  had 
no  part  or  lot  in  you.  You  were  a  member  of 
a  church,  in  good  and  regular  standing;  you  had 
graduated  with  all  the  honors  worth  mentioning; 
you  had  not  a  sin,  a  vice,  or  a  fault  that  I  knew 
of;  and  you  were  so  thoroughly  good  and  re- 
pulsive that  you  were  a  great  grief  to  me.  Do 
you  think,  you  dear,  disinterested  wretch,  that  I 
have  forgotten  how  you  were  continually  putting 
yourself  to  horrible  inconveniences  on  my  ac- 
count? Do  you  think  I  am  not  now  filled  with 
remorse  for  the  aversion  that  rooted  itself  in- 
eradicably  in  my  soul,  and  which  now  gloats 
over  you,  as  you  stand  in  the  pillory  where  my 
owri  hands  have  fastened  you  ?     But  can  Nature 


A    COMPLAINT  OF  FRIENDS.  307 

he  crushed  forever  ?  Did  I  not  ruin  my  nerves, 
and  seriously  injure  my  temper,  by  the  over- 
powering pressure  I  laid  upon  them  to  keep 
them  quiet  when  you  were  by  ?  Could  I  not, 
by  the  sense  of  coming  ill  through  all  my  quiv- 
ering frame,  presage  your  advent  as  exactly  as 
the  barometer  heralds  the  approaching  storm? 
Those  three  months  of  agony  are  little  atoned  for 
by  this  late  vengeance ;  but  go  in  peace  ! 

Mysterious  are  the  ways  of  friendship.  It  is 
not  a  matter  of  reason  or  of  choice,  but  of  mag- 
netisms. You  cannot  always  give  the  premises 
nor  the  argument,  but  the  conclusion  is  a  pal- 
pable and  stubborn  fact.  Abana  and  Pharpar 
may  be  broad,  and  deep,  and  blue,  and  grand ; 
but  only  in  Jordan  shall  your  soul  wash  and  be 
clean.  A  thousand  brooks  are  born  of  the  sun- 
shine and  the  mountains :  very,  very  few  are 
they  whose  flow  can  mingle  with  yours,  and  not 
disturb,  but  only  deepen  and  broaden  the  current. 

Your  friend !  Who  shall  describe  him,  or 
worthily  paint  what  he  is  to  you  ?  No  merchant, 
nor  lawyer,  nor  farmer,  nor  statesman,  claims 
your  suffrage,  but  a  kingly  soul.  He  comes  to 
you  from  God,  —  a  prophet,  a  seer,  a  revealer. 
He  has  a  clear  vision.  His  love  is  reverence. 
He  goes  into  the  penetralia  of  your  life,  —  not 
presumptuously,  but  with  uncovered  head,  unsan- 
dalled  feet,  and  pours  libations  at  the  innermost 
shrine.      His  incense  is   grateful.      For  him  the 


308  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

sunlight  brightens,  the  skies  grow  rosy,  and  all 
the  days  are  Junes.  Wrapped  in  his  love,  you 
float  in  a  delicious  rest,  rocked  in  the  bosom  of 
purple,  scented  waves.  Nameless  melodies  sing 
themselves  through  your  heart.  A  golden  glow 
suffuses  your  atmosphere.  A  vague,  fine  ecstasy 
thrills  to  the  sources  of  life,  and  earth  lays  hold 
on  heaven.  Such  friendship  is  worship.  It  ele- 
vates the  most  trifling  services  into  rites.  The 
humblest  offices  are  sanctified.  All  things  are 
baptized  into  a  new  name.  Duty  is  lost  in  joy. 
Care  veils  itself  in  caresses.  Drudgery  becomes 
delight.  There  is  no  longer  anything  menial, 
small,  or  servile.     All  is  transformed 

"  Into  something  rich  and  strange." 

The  homely  household-ways  lead  through  beds  of 
spices  and  orchards  of  pomegranates.  The  daily 
toil  among  your  parsnips  and  carrots  is  plucking 
May  violets  with  the  dew  upon  them  to  meet  the 
eyes  you  love  upon  their  first  awaking.  In  the 
burden  and  heat  of  the  day  you  hear  the  rustling 
of  summer  showers  and  the  whispering  of  summer 
winds.  Everything  is  lifted  up  from  the  plane  of 
labor  to  the  plane  of  love,  and  a  glory  spans  your 
life.  With  your  friend,  speech  and  silence  are 
one ;  for  a  communion  mysterious  and  intangible 
reaches  across  from  heart  to  heart.  The  many 
dig  and  delve  in  your  nature  with  fruitless  toil  to 
find  the  spring  of  living  water  :  he  only  raises  his 


A    COMPLAINT  OF  FRIENDS.  309 

wand,  and,  obedient  to  the  hidden  power,  it  bends 
at  once  to  your  secret.  Your  friendship,  though 
independent  of  language,  gives  to  it  Hfe  and  light. 
The  mystic  spirit  stirs  even  in  commonplaces,  and 
the  merest  question  is  an  endearment.  You  are 
quiet  because  your  heart  is  over-full.  You  talk 
because  it  is  pleasant,  not  because  you  have  any- 
thing to  say.  You  weary  of  terms  that  are  already 
love-laden,  and  you  go  out  into  the  highways  and 
hedges,  and  gather  up  the  rough,  wild,  wilful 
words,  heavy  with  the  hatreds  of  men,  and  fill 
them  to  the  brim  with  honey-dew.  All  things 
great  and  small,  grand  or  humble,  you  press  into 
your  service,  force  them  to  do  soldier's  duty,  and 
your  banner  over  them  is  love. 

With  such  a  friendship,  presence  alone  is  happi- 
ness ;  nor  is  absence  wholly  void,  —  for  memories, 
and  hopes,  and  pleasing  fancies,  sparkle  through 
the  hours,  and  you  know  the  sunshine  will  come 
back. 

For  such  friendship  one  is  grateful.  No  matter 
that  it  comes  unsought,  and  comes  not  for  the 
seeking.  You  do  not  discuss  the  reasonableness 
of  your  gratitude.  You  only  know  that  your 
whole  being  bows  with  humility  and  utter  thank- 
fulness to  him  who  thus  crowns  you  monarch  of 
all  realms. 

And  the  kingdom  is  everlasting.  A  weak  love 
dies  weakly  with  the  occasion  that  gave  it  birth ; 
but  such  friendship  is  born  of  the  gods,  and  im- 


310  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

mortal.     Clouds  and  darkness  may  sweep  around 
it,  but  within  the  cloud  the  glory  lives  undimmed. 
Death  has  no  power  over  it.     Time  cannot  dimin- 
ish, nor  even  dishonor  annul  it.     Its  direction  may 
have  been  earthly,  but  itself  is  divine.     You  go 
back  into  your  solitudes :  all  is  silent  as  aforetime, 
but  you  cannot  forget  that  a  Voice  once  resounded 
there.     A  Presence  filled  the  valleys  and  gilded 
the  mountain-tops, -^breathed  upon  the  plains,  and 
they  sprang  up  in  lilies  and  roses,  —  flashed  upon 
the  waters,  and  they  flowed  to  spheral  melody,  — 
swept  through  the  forests,  and  they,  too,  trembled 
into   song.      And    though   now   the    warmth   has 
faded  out,  though  the  ruddy  tints  and  amber  clear- 
ness have  paled  to  ashen  hues,  though  the  mur- 
muring melodies  are  dead,  and  forest,  vale,  and  hill 
look  hard  and  angular  in  the  sharp  air,  you  know 
that  it  is  not  death.     The  fire  is  unquenched 
beneath.    You  go  your  way  not  disconso- 
late.   There  needs  but  the  Victorious 
Voice.     At  the  touch  of  the 
Prince's  lips,  life  shall  rise 
again  and  be  perfected 
forevermore. 


Dog-Days. 


OUBTLESS  they  have  their  uses,  but 
they  are  not  agreeable.  That  must 
be  conceded.  There  is  no  out-doors. 
You  wake  in  the  morning  with  a  mild 
sense  of  strangulation,  though  all  your  windows 
are  open  at  top  and  bottom.  You  thrust  your 
head  out  into  the  morning  air,  but  there  is  n't  any. 
It  has  all  run  to  fog.  Fog  lies  heavy  and  gray 
on  the  grass.  Trees  and  hills  and  fences  are 
smothered  in  fog.  It  creeps  into  your  house,  tar- 
nishes all  your  gilt,  swells  your  drawers  and  doors 
so  that  you  can't  open  them,  and  when  you  have 
opened  them  you  can't  shut  them.  It  breathes 
upon  your  muslin  curtains,  and  they  turn  into 
limpsy  strings.  It  steals  into  your  closet,  and 
little  blue  specks  and  white  feathery  spots  appear 
on  your  pies.  A  pungent  taste  develops  itself  in 
your  pound-cake.  The  stray  cup-custard  filched 
from  the  general  larder  for  private  circulation  is  a 
keen  and  acid  disappointment.  Milk  refuses  to 
curdle  into  cheese,  and  cream  will  tumble  about 


312  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

in  your  churn  for  hours,  and  come  out  mitigated 
buttermilk  at  last. 

Flies  are  rampant.  If  the  cover  is  left  oif  the 
sugar-bowl,  a  colony  of  flies  take  immediate  pos- 
session. If  your  bare  arm  happens  to  be  carrying 
a  vase  of  flowers  with  special  care,  a  fly  lights  on 
your  elbow,  and  proceeds  by  short  and  easy  stages 
(to  him)  to  your  wrist.  If  you  are  writing,  a 
horde  of  flies  institute  an  investigation  of  your 
head  and  hands,  with  a  special  commission  for 
your  nose.  You  brush  them  off",  and  they  only 
rub  their  fore  legs  together,  bob  their  heads,  brush 
down  their  wings,  and  go  at  it  again.  Your 
kitchen  ceiling  looks  like  huckleberries  and  milk. 
All  the  while  it  is  very  warm,  but  not  so  warm  as 
it  is  sticky,  only  the  stickiness  is  all  on  the  out- 
side. Within,  you  feel  a  constant  tendency  to  fall 
to  pieces,  because  there  is  n't  hrace  enough  in  the 
air  to  hold  you  together.  If  we  were  English,  we 
should  say  it  was  nasty  weather.  Being  Ameri- 
cans, we  only  sigh,  "  Dog-days  !  " 

But  they  must  have  their  uses.  Everything  is 
good  for  something.  Let  us  see.  First,  they  are 
excellent  for  the  complexion,  —  a  matter  in  which, 
whatever  we  say,  we  are  all  more  or  less  interest- 
ed. Bile-y,  jaundice-y,  sallow  faces  clear  up  into 
healthy  tints.  Freckles  "  try  out."  Pale  cheeks 
tone  up  into  delicate  rose,  and  dry,  parched,  burn- 
ing flushes  tone  down  into  a  cool  liquescence.  All 
the  pores  are  opened,  and  the  whole  system  Ian- 


DOG-DAYS.  313 

guishes  in  a  pleasant  helplessness,  —  pleasant,  if 
one  has  been  so  industrious  all  the  year,  that  he 
can  afford  to  be  idle  during  the  dog-days. 

Dog-days  are  good  as  tests.  Their  effect  on 
curl-paper  curls  is  melancholy,  but  natural  curls 
laugh  them  to  scorn,  and  riot  in  twistings.  Just 
so  the  temper.  Placidity  at  Christmas  often  dis- 
solves in  an  August  fog.  What  you  thought  was 
amiability,  may  have  been  only  oxygen.  If  you 
wish  to  see  whether  your  temper  can  really  bear 
the  strains  of  wind  and  weather,  just  remember 
how  you  went  to  the  middle  drawer  in  your 
bureau  for  gloves,  fearing  you  should  be  too  late 
for  the  cars,  —  how  the  drawer  would  only  come 
out  by  hitches,  first  one  side,  then  the  other,  and 
then  not  at  all,  —  how  you  thrust  in  your  hand  up 
to  the  wrist,  and  could  just  not  reach  the  gloves 
with  the  end  of  your  longest  finger,  while  your 
wrist  was  tortured  by  the  sharp  edge  of  the  drawer 
on  one  side,  and  the  sharp  edge  of  the  bureau  on 
the  other.  Did  you  possess  your  soul  in  pa- 
tience? When  a  shower  came  suddenly  pelting 
down  through  the  fog,  and  you  tried  to  close  the 
window,  and  got  yourself  wet  through  for  your 
pains,  and  could  n't  move  it  an  inch  for  all  your 
shaking  and  pounding,  —  when  you  put  your 
cake  into  the  oven  to  "  scald,"  and  forgot  it,  till 
a  sense  of  something  burning  travelled  up-stairs 
to  stir  your  passivity,  and  you  rushed  down  to 
snatch  too  late  a  burnt  and  blackened  loaf,  —  did 
u 


314  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

you  remember  the  first  three  words  of  Psalm 
XXX  vii.  1  ? 

In  the  calm  complacency  of  a  balmy  spring 
morning,  we  look  down  with  a  serene  smile  on  the 
follies  of  the  world.  We  assume  a  calm  and  quiet 
superiority,  give  it  a  pat  on  the  shoulder,  and  say, 
condescendingly  :  "  Yes,  you  will  do  very  well ;  a 
little  rickety  in  the  joints  ;  a  slight  softening  of  the 
brain ;  but  very  passable  for  your  age."  Nothing 
can  exceed  our  amiability  when  we  are  pleased 
and  comfortable ;  but,  floundeiing  up  to  the  neck 
in  July,  keeping  the  breath  of  life  in  us  only  by 
becoming  ampiiibious  and  web-footed,  bound  to 
the  earth  by  no  stronger  tie  than  ice-cream  and 
sherbet,  wooing  to  our  side  every  passing  breeze, 
as  if  it  were  the  king's  daughter,  —  then,  a  beflow- 
ered,  bespangled,  bedizened  abomination,  coming 
betwixt  the  wind  and  our  nobility,  is  the  spear 
of  Ithuriel  to  our  smiUng  good-nature,  and  we  feel 
disposed  to  pluck  its  eyes  out  with  a  demoniac 
delight. 

Dog-days  can  teach  us  trust.  You  have  heard 
of  the  woman  who,  when  her  horse  ran  away, 
trusted  to  Providence  till  the  breechincr  broke. 
A  good  deal  of  our  trust  is  like  this.  We  call  it 
Providence,  but  it  is  really  breeching.  Not  that 
breeching  is  not  a  very  good  thing  to  trust  to  as 
far  as  it  goes,  —  only  it  is  not  Providence.  So, 
when  our  doors  can  be  bolted  and  locked,  we  lie 
down  in  peace  and  sleep  ;  but  when  they  won't  go 


DOG-DAYS.  ^  315 

to,  and  we  have  to  make  a  precarious  arrangement 
of  sticks  and  strings,  we  feel  more  keenly  that  we 
awake  because  the  Lord  sustained  us. 

Dog-days  are  friendly  to  greenness.  Our  lawns 
smile  with  velvet  verdure.  The  fog  goes  into  the 
soil  and  wraps  it  around  the  tender  strawberry- 
vines  that  we  have  just  transplanted,  and  in  soft 
swaddling-clothes  the  young  fruit  will  slumber  till 
next  summer's  sun  shall  bid  it  leap  to  luxuriant 
life,  and  a  creamy  and  glorious  death.  Down  into 
the  heart  of  the  sweet-pea,  deep  into  the  cup  of 
the  morning-glory,  steals  the  kindly  mist,  and  a 
pink  and  purple  splendor  crowns  the  rising  day. 
The  cucumber  swells  its  prickly  sides  and  snuffs 
the  coming  vinegar.  The  squash-vine  creeps  along 
the  ground,  sorrowing  that  it  has  all  turned  to 
pumpkin,  but  catching  from  the  moist  air  a  deeper 
shade  for  the  generous  gold  of  its  blossom.  Ah  I 
in  the  laboratories  of  nature  the  fog  has  a  great 
work  to  do. 

But  the  best  of  dog-days  is  their  departing. 
Grateful  for  the  returning  sun,  and  the  sweet 
west  wind,  we  see  a  deeper  blue  in  the  sky,  and 
a  denser  green  in  the  fields.  The  tall  corn  waves 
with  statelier  grace.  The  trees  are  fretted  with 
fresh-springing  life.  The  earth  is  a  billowy  and 
dimpled  emerald,  tender  and  smiling ;  but  the  sky 
—  the  ever-shifting  sky  —  is  an  absorbing  and  per- 
petual joy.  Sometimes  its  sweep  of  stainless  blue 
is  glorious  afar.     Then  the  dying  sun  leaves  its 


316  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

legacy  in  the  west,  of  saffron,  and  amber,  and 
pale  green.  Now  the  clouds  sail  out  white  and 
warm  into  the  central  blue,  or  rush  exultant, 
whirling  up  masses  of  lavender  rimmed  with  gold, 
or  shoot  from  the  glowing  west  spires  of  rosy 
pink,  or  mount  to  the  zenith  in  delicate  shells  of 
pearl,  or  lie  above  the  horizon,  passionate,  breath- 
less, and  ruddy,  floating  in  seas  of  fire.  Anon 
they  group  themselves  in  all  fantastic  shapes.  A 
turreted  castle  sends  down  shafts  of  light  from  its 
pearly  gates.  The  mailed  warrior  places  his  lance 
in  rest,  and  a  couchant  lion 

"  Scatters  across  the  sunset  air 
The  golden  radiance  of  his  hair." 

"  Cloud-land !  Gorgeous  land  !  "  All  grace  of 
outline,  all  wealth  of  color,  are  gathered  there. 
Tropical  splendor  and  heavenly  purity  kiss  each 
other,  and  the  angels  of  God  can  almost  be  seen 
ascending  and  descending. 

So  gazing  with  thankful  and  reverent  hearts, 
we  remember  that  great  city,  the  holy  Jerusalem, 
descending  out  of  heaven  from  God,  whose  light  is 
like  unto  a  stone  most  precious,  for  the  glory  of  God 
doth  lio-hten  it,  and  the  Lamb  is  the  licrht  thereof. 

So,  when  the  west  winds  come  laden  with  fra- 
grance from  the  prairies,  and  the  cold  winds  blow 
down  from  the  north,  bearing  us  healing  and 
strength,  we  will  gird  up  our  loins  anew  to  the 
work  of  the  Lord  of  light,  contented  to  rest  and 
stand  in  our  lot  at  the  end  of  the  days. 


Summer  Gone. 


HOPE,  a  throb,  a  memory,  —  that  is 
summer  in  these  hi^h  latitudes.  The 
sorrow  of  her  going  follows  close  upon 
the  jubilee  of  her  welcome.  The  lips 
that  part  to  ring  out  her  joyous  "  Salve ! "  close, 
white  and  tremulous,  upon  her  thrice-wailed 
"Vale!"  The  same  breath  wafts  her  Hail!  and 
Farewell ! 

But  be  not  cast  down,  O  my  soul,  nor  disquiet- 
ed within  me.  The  beauty  that  budded  with  the 
opening  spring  is  not  yet  gone,  though  autumn 
winds  wail,  and  chilly  nights  prophesy  dismantled 
woods.  That  beauty  will  be  a  joy  forever.  No 
time,  no  tyranny,  can  rob  me  of  the  riches  which 
the  summer  brought.  Wherever  I  go,  my  walls 
will  be  always  spread  with  pictures  that  no  artist 
can  rival.  I  have  but  to  close  my  eyes,  and  the 
hill-sides  whiten  with  Innocence  once  more.  I  see 
again  that  strange,  hardy,  frail-looking  thing,  with 
the  soft,  delicate,  liquescent  "  feel "  of  a  month- 
old  baby,  yet  popping  up  its  audacious  little  head 


318  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

close  upon  the  heels  of  the  departing  snow.  De- 
fiant of  frost,  and  storm,  and  wind,  —  tremulous, 
mellow,  luscious,  —  yet  pure,  and  sweet,  and 
saintly,  it  meets  me  everywhere.  On  the  very 
top  of  the  hill,  where  the  moss  is  only  a  brown 
crisp  in  the  sun,  a  little  clump  of  white  richness 
sways  in  the  scented  air.  I  put  aside  the  dark, 
dense  grass  under  the  apple-trees,  down  in  the 
moist  meadow-land,  and  it  laughs  up  at  me  with 
joyful  recognition.  Sometimes  it  takes  on  a  deep, 
creamy  white  ;  sometimes  it  is  tinted  with  pearl, 
or  lavender,  or  pale  violet  deepening  at  the  border 
into  a  purple  rim,  but  always  spreading  purest 
white  around  the  centre,  where,  in  a  silver  pal- 
ace, the  baby-prince  lies  sleeping,  crowned  with  a 
golden  crown. 

Here  in  my  quiet  room,  with  the  curtains  drawn 
and  the  red  fire-light  setting  the  room  aglow,  I 
gather  them  once  more  into  a  swelling  wave  of 
white  loveliness,  circled  with  deep  green  moss  or 
the  velvet  purple  of  pansies.  I  do  not  mingle  them 
with  other  flowers,  because  I  think  it  destroys  their 
individuality.  They  look  crowded,  and  uncom- 
fortable, and  overlooked,  but  by  themselves  they 
are  the  sweetest,  happiest  little  company  in  the 
world.  Their  talk  is  of  the  floating  of  angel-gar- 
ments, the  fathomless  depths  of  mothers'  hearts, 
and  the  souls  of  little  children  that  went  to  God 
unstained.  They  are  like  fluttering  memories  of 
some  sweet,  strange  sphere  long  ago,  and   they 


SUMMER   GONE.  319 

murmur  rare  melodies  if  you  but  lean  your  heart 
close  and  listen. 

Side  by  side  with  the  Innocence,  the  purple  vio- 
let rears  its  slender  stalk  and  bends  its  swan-like 
neck  with  a  queenly  condescension.  This  is  an 
age  of  iconoclasm.  Dr.  Livingstone  has  demol- 
ished the  traditional  valor  of  the  lion,  and  Al- 
photise  Karr  makes  count  that  the  violet  is  one  of 
the  most  ambitious  and  aspiring  of  flowers.  I 
marvel,  however,  that  it  needed  Alphonse  Karr  to 
show  us  that  the  violet  is  not  modest.  I  do  not 
mean  that  it  is  zm-modest,  —  far  from  it ;  but  only 
that  in  looking  at  it,  modesty,  humility,  do  not 
seem  to  be  its  prevailing  or  most  striking  char- 
acteristic. I  should  rather  say  it  was  stateliness. 
Innocence,  which  has  never  been  accused  of  mod- 
esty, to  my  knowledge,  conveys  to  me  a  far 
stronger  impression  of  it.  It  springs  up  with  a 
light,  unconscious  air,  as  if  it  were  not  thinking 
about  itself  at  all,  —  peeping  and  peering  into  the 
great  mystery  of  sun  and  sky  with  an  investigat- 
ing, curious,  wide-awake,  humble  look,  as  if  quite 
aware  that  it  was  an  ignorant  little  good-for-noth- 
ing of  a  flower,  but  would  thankfully  receive  infor- 
mation from  any  quarter  on  any  subject.  Not  so 
the  violet.  It  does  not  shoot  up  like  the  Inno- 
cence with  any  definite  object  in  view,  but  rather 
glides  deliberately,  having  decided  that,  on  the 
whole,  it  may  as  well  dispose  of  its  elegant  leisure 
in  that  as  in  any  way,  and  once  up,  it  seems  to 


320  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

take  a  comprehensive  survey  of  the  universe,  con- 
cludes that  nothing  therein  is  especially  worthy  of 
its  august  notice,  and  then  —  does  n't  droop  its 
head  as  many  people  persist  in  asserting,  though, 
if  you  will  but  notice  its  two  winged  petals  ex- 
panding laterally  from  a  certain  inward  prompt- 
ing, and  the  two  upper  ones  flung  spiritedly  back 
and  curling  over,  you  will  see  that  there  is  no 
more  droop  to  it  than  there  is  to  a  —  I  don't  think 
of  anything  to  finish  my  comparison  with,  so  it 
must  hang  as  it  is  —  and  then,  as  I  was  saying,  it 
bows  its  stately  head  as  a  queen  might  to  a  chim- 
ney-sweeper who  raises  his  tattered  cap  as  she 
rides  past. 

It  is  true  that  the  violet  does  seem  to  delight  in 
obscure,  out-of-the-way  places,  "  half  hidden  from 
the  eye  " ;  for  though  it  does  sometimes  appear  in 
the  open  fields,  it  is  shorn  of  its  glory,  —  a  pale, 
spiritless  thing,  afraid  of  its  own  shadow,  and 
clinging  so  timorously  to  its  mother  Earth  that 
you  can  hardly  find  it  in  your  heart  to  stoop  and 
pluck  it  thence ;  while,  if  you  chance  to  leap  over 
an  old,  tumbling-down  stone  wall,  you  will  see 
hosts  of  them  rising  on  the  other  side,  with  tall, 
juicy  stems,  and  deep,  rich  petals,  fearless  and 
free.  In  my  stroll  one  morning,  I  came  unex- 
pectedly upon  a  bed  of —  I  beg  everybody's  par- 
don, but  I  never  heard  it  called  anything  but 
"  skunk-cabbage."  It  was  in  a  low,  swampy  ra- 
vine, and  I  was  turning  vigorously  away,  when 


SUMMER   GONE.  321 

the  sudden  twinkling  of  flowers  beckoned  me 
forward.  Treading  very  insecurely  among  the 
mushy  hassocks,  and  thrusting  aside  the  uncouth 
leaves,  lo  !  a  great  army  of  violets  rollicking  under 
their  odorous  shade,  in  all  the  intensest  passionate 
purple  of  tropical  luxuriance.  Strange !  They 
love  the  sunshine.  It  nourishes  their  strength 
and  beauty.  Grace  of  form  and  wealth  of  color 
come  to  them  from  its  beneficence.  They  would 
fade  and  die  without  it,  yet  they  hide  from  it. 
They  pale  in  it.  They  keep  their  richest  bloom 
for  dark  shady  dells,  where  sunshine  only  drips 
through  lazily.  It  is  no  coquettish  teasing,  but  a 
real  shyness,  —  not  the  petty  tyranny  of  a  weak 
vanity,  but  the  shrinking  of  a  true  heart,  a-trem- 
ble  in  the  grasp  of  its  own  passion,  hiding  invol- 
untarily, in  silence  and  solitude,  from  the  love  that 
has  evoked  it,  and  that  glows,  and  flames,  and 
dazzles  in  lambent  embrace  around  it,  yet  in  voice- 
less solitude  feeding  on  nothing  else  than  the  full- 
ness of  that  very  love,  drinking  in  its  sweetness, 
softening  down  the  brilliancy  to  its  own  white 
lustre,  and  filling  up  the  springs  of  life  with  an 
inward  and  unspeakable  joy. 

Still  the  place  does  not  make,  though  it  often 
does  reveal,  the  man.  "  Let  many  a  one  who 
passed  in  his  cottage  for  a  quiet,  sensible,  well- 
bred  person  be  raised  suddenly  to  a  palace  ;  or, 
since,  notwithstanding  the  newspapers,  we  don't 
have   palaces   in   this   country,   say   a   five-story, 

14*  D 


322  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

brown-stone  front,  with  income  to  match,  and  his 
innate  vulgarity  crops  out.  Or  vice  versa.,  the 
large-hearted,  hospitable  master  of  the  aforesaid 
palace,  falsely  so  called,  coming  suddenly  to  grief 
and  a  pittance  per  annum,  is  transformed  into  a 
fretful,  jealous,  petty,  and  pitiful  soul.  The  springs 
of  his  generosity  lay  in  his  pocket,  not  in  his  heart. 
His  bank-book,  not  himself,  made  him  a  gentle- 
man. A  little,  fat,  good-natured  woman  is  not 
majestic  because  she  dons  a  diadem ;  nor  w^as 
Godiva  ever  more  a  queen  than  when  she  swept 
down  the  turret  stairs,  clad  only  in  her  loveliness. 
Circumstances  may  veil  or  obscure  for  a  time,  but 
cannot  prematurely  hide,  — 

"  May  cloud  the  soul  with  shadows,  but  may  not 
Its  glory  blot." 

Pomp  disguises  meanness,  and  poverty  shackles 
grandeur ;  but  sooner  or  later  the  heaven-lit  flame 
plays  around  the  brow  of  the  true  prince,  and 
reveals  his  royal  birth,  —  whether  it  be  Havelok 
in  the  fisherman's  hut,  or  lulus  in  burning  Troy. 

So,  little  violets,  wax  pallid  on  the  hill-tops  if 
you  will,  and  shun  the  garish  day.  Nestle  under 
the  shadows  of  gray  old  rocks,  and  verdurous, 
large-leaved  plantain.  I  know  you.  In  your  self- 
sought  solitude  your  royal  blood  reveals  itself  By 
your  amethystine  locks,  by  your  incense-breathing 
vestments,  by  your  princely  port  and  mien,  I  read 
your  noble  lineage.  Your  kinghood  stands  con- 
fessed. 


SUMMER   GONE.  323 

Still  with  closed  eyes  I  see  thousands  of  dande- 
lions gleaming  sun-ward.  All  the  highways  and 
by-ways  are  mottled  with  their  generous  gold. 
Dust  cannot  choke  them,  —  can  scarcely  dim  their 
shining.  On  the  warmest  summer  noon,  place 
one  against  your  cheek,  and  it  has  the  same  cool, 
soft,  fresh  feeling.  Little  curling  tendrils  nestle 
.lovingly  among  the  petals.  Young  eyes  untrained 
to  minute  uses  are  attracted  by  their  unblinking 
gaze,  and  dimpled  hands  pluck  at  them  with  ill- 
aimed  eagerness,  and  hold  them  in  unsteady  grasp. 
Obedient  to  "  waxen  touches,"  their  satin-smooth 
stems  curl  in  involute  circles,  adorning  child-brows 
with  fantastic  grace,  or  link  themselves  in  tremu- 
lous chains  about  little  white  throats.  When  their 
yellow  disks  round  into  nebulous  globes  of  pale, 
feathery  softness,  merry  hands  clutch  them  afresh, 
and  puckered  red  lips  and  puffed  cheeks  send  out 
as  strong  a  blast  as  juvenile  lungs  can  furnish  ; 
because,  you  know,  if  you  can  blow  away  the 
down  with  one  breath,  it  is  a  sure  sign  that  "  your 
mother  wants  you " !  Happy  little  lion-toothed 
flower,  with  nothing  of  the  lion  but  the  tooth,  and 
with  neither  the  power  nor  the  wish  to  use  that, — 
woven  in  with  the  unconscious  sunshine  of  child- 
hood, with  the  memories  of  continual  spring-time, 
and  innocence,  and  blissful  ignorance,  —  the  bless- 
ing of  all  baby-life  be  upon  you  !  Never  cease  to 
fringe  the  dusty  road  with  sunlit  smiles,  —  a  boon 
and  a  benediction  alike  to  the  infant  and  to  him 
that  is  an  hundred  years  old. 


324  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

All  the  knolls  are  studded  with  star-flower, 
but  you  must  go  down  on  your  knees  to  see  it, 
and  gather  with  painful  care,  one  by  one,  if  you 
gather  at  all.  I  should  let  them  be.  They  look 
pretty  where  they  are,  sprinkling  the  somewhat 
bare  slope  with  a  crystalline  delicacy,  and  their 
leaves  have  an  elaborate,  clear-cut  beauty ;  but 
they  do  not  make  much  figure  in  a  —  must  I 
say  bouquet  ?  O  that  the  old  English  nosegay 
might  be  reinstated  in  its  ancient  dignity,  and  the 
stiif,  foreign,  unmeaning,  wrong-meaning,  cut- 
and-dried  bouquet  ousted  from  the  throne  where 
its  presence  is  a  perpetual  usurpation !  It  never 
will  be  naturalized,  and  never  is  natural.  We 
don't  know  how  to  pronounce  it ;  we  don't  know 
how  to  spell  it ;  and  if  any  of  us  do  happen  to 
know,  the  printer  does  n't,  and  he  goes  straight- 
way and  spells  it  wrong.  Let  us  have  the  nose- 
gay, brimful  of  rich  old  meanings,  replete  with 
associations  ;  and  reserve  the  foreign  word  for 
the  only  thing  which  it  fits,  —  namely,  the  round, 
stiif,  hard,  close-clipped,  tightly-squeezed  horror 
that  comes  from  the  hand  of  professional  hot- 
house men,  —  solid  enough  to  knock  you  down, 
if  fired  with  sufficient  force,  and  so  ugly  that 
you  are  divided  between  pity  for  the  poor  little 
things  forced  into  such  unnatural  contiguity,  — 
divested  of  the  green  which  relieved  their  bril- 
liancy from  the  charge  of  gaudiness,  and  laced 
into  a  hideous  regularity,  —  and  wrath  against  the 


SUMMER   GONE.  325 

man  who  has  so  misused  his  eyes  and  hands  as 
not  to  be  able  to  construct  any  better  imitation 
of  the  viny,  sprayey,  feathery,  airy,  slender, 
pendulous  lightness,  winsomeness,  and  grace  of 
nature  than  that  artificial  knob.  Call  that  a 
bouquet,  and  with  merciful  hands  rend  off  its 
swaddling-clothes,  tone  down  its  rainbow  hues 
with  all  tints  of  green,  from  the  pale  tenderness 
that  springs  up  on  the  sunny,  sheltered  side  of 
the  wood,  to  the  deep  luxuriance  that  lurks  in 
its  unsunned  and  unstirred  heart,  and  make  of  it 
twenty  nosegays,  whose  colors  shall  delight,  and 
whose  odors  shall  intoxicate  ;  in  which  nosegays, 
as  I  have  said,  my  little  star-flowers  would  make 
but  a  poor  figure.  Their  stems  are  so  short,  that  it 
is  difficult  to  group  them  with  any  effect.  Their 
tiny  faces  become  quite  hidden  behind  their  stur- 
dier kinsmen.  But  in  their  own  haunts  they  lead  a 
quiet,  noiseless  life,  which  well  repays  an  observer. 
If  you  went  away  to  foreign  lands  when  you 
were  young,  and  your  knowledge  of  buttercups 
is  only  a  childish  memory  hanging  on  an  obscure 
peg  in  some  inner  chamber  of  your  brain,  you 
will  very  likely  —  as  I  did  —  look  upon  the  first 
star-flowers  that  you  see  as  juvenile  buttercups, 
—  just  as  children  invariably  suppose  mice  to  be 
young  rats,  and  rats  adult  mice  ;  and  though  you 
have  a  vague,  half-unconscious  feeling  that  those 
wee  things  do  not  quite  satisfy  your  sense  of  but- 
tercups,  you  will   attribute   it   to   the   difference 


326  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

between  tlie  eyes  of  childhood  and  of  maturity. 
''  Years  dwarf  so  many  of  our  grandeurs,  and  dim 
so  many  of  our  lustres ! "  you  will  begin  to  sigh. 
Don't.  It 's  no  such  thing.  Wait  awhile,  just 
a  few  days,  and  —  whence  comes  that  shining  ? 
Is  it  the  twinkling  of  a  star-flower?  Not  a  bit. 
It  is  the  gleam  of  knightly  armor.  It  is  the 
glitter  of  burnished  gold.  There  stands  the  real 
buttercup.  Does  it  pale  before  your  young 
memories  ?  Your  memories  were,  on  the  con- 
trary, but  a  faint  herald  of  its  splendor.  Yon 
little  star-flowers  might  grow  for  an  age  of  sum- 
mers, and  never  attain  such  form  and  comeliness. 
Their  timid,  dehcate,  soft  sweetness  is  to  the 
defiant,  glittering,  manly  beauty  of  buttercups 

"  As  moonlight  unto  sunlight,  or  as  water  unto  wine." 

Think  of  the  merry  scorn  with  which,  hiding  in 
the  grass,  they  must  have  heard  your  mournful 
musing  on  their  short-comings  ;  and  the  sturdy 
self-confidence  with  which  they  bided  their  time. 
No  wonder  they  toss  their  heads  a  little  saucily 
as  you  pass  by,  and  nod  and  wink  at  each  other 
in  ill-concealed  jubilee  over  your  undisguised  ad- 
miration. One  idea  concerning  them,  however,  I 
have  discarded,  —  my  belief  in  the  traditional  test- 
ship.  In  fact,  now  that  I  am  grown  up  and  out 
of  harm's  w^ay,  I  will  say  that  I  never  did  believe 
it.  I  think  if  you  hold  a  buttercup  under  any- 
body's chin,  near  enough,  his  chin  will  turn  yel- 


SUMMER    GONE.  327 

low,  and  it  is  no  sign  at  all  that  he  is  inordi- 
nately fond  of  butter.  But  when  I  was  little,  I 
was  not  as  bold  as  an  eagle,  and  often  waived, 
or  at  least  suppressed,  my  convictions,  for  the 
sake  of  being  let  alone.  Moreover,  I  was  con- 
scious of  a  weakness  in  the  direction  indicated 
by  the  buttercups  ;  so  I  suffered  them  to  be 
brought  in  confirmation  strong,  and  only  smiled 
in  outward  acquiescence,  but  with  inward  pro- 
test. I  am  older  now,  and  have  learned  that 
Paul's  order  of  sequence  is  best,  —  first  pure, 
then  peaceable  ;  that  peace  is  not  so  precious  a 
treasure  as  to  be  bought  at  any  price  ;  that,  in 
fact,  it  is  a  curse 

"  Till  the  Might  with  the  Right  and  the  Truth  shall  be." 
"  Better  war,  loud  war  by  land  and  by  sea, 
War  with  a  thousand  battles  and  shaking  a  hundred  thrones." 

Nay,  so  fearful,  so  deceitful,  so  dangerous,  is  the 
calm  of  a  stagnant  peace,  —  a  peace  that  scums 
the  pool  in  whose  foul  depths  lurk  dishonesty 
and  oppression  and  cowardice,  lust  and  rapine 
and  murder,  —  that  I  rather  feel 

"  'T  is  better  to  have  fought  and  lost. 
Than  never  to  have  fought  at  all." 

The  anemones  have  passed  into  my  heart  for- 
ever. Their  reign  was  short,  but  they  bloomed 
in  beautiful  profusion.  Almost  before  I  thought 
of  looking  for  them,  I  found  a  clump  two  feet  in 
diameter  on  the  edge  of  a  swamp  where  I  least 
expected  to  find  any.     I  don't  suppose  a  soul  had 


328  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

seen  them  but  myself, —  a  soul  in  a  mortal  body,  I 
mean,  —  for  I  dare  say  many  of  the  shinmg  ones  had 
looked  upon  it,  and  lent  perhaps  some  ray  of  white- 
ness to  its  pure  garments  ;  but  there  in  their  shel- 
tered nook,  unseen,  unknown,  they  revelled  in  sun- 
ny, exuberant  life,  every  petal  springing  back  with 
joyous  eagerness.  It  seemed  as  if  they  gladdened 
at  sight  of  me, —  as  if  they  wanted  mortal  eyes 
to  be  refreshed  with  a  glimpse  of  their  overflowing 
happiness  ;  and  the  breath  of  the  soft  morning  — 
a  June  morning  dropped  into  the  stormy  lap  of 
March  —  that  gently  swayed  their  pliant  stems, 
seemed  to  intone  a  song  of  peace  on  earth,  good- 
will toward  men.  I  think  they  are  very  human. 
Perhaps  it  is  because  we  associate  them  with 
those 

"  Who  in  their  youthful  beauty  died." 

Gazing  upon  their  exquisite  tracery,  we  see  once 
more  the  blue-veined  loveliness  that  grew  so  deep 
into  our  hearts,  but  vanished  from  our  aching 
eyes  long  ago,  —  the  first  little  baby-daughter,  who 
learned  only  in  heaven  how  dear  she  was  on 
earth  ;  the  sister  who  fell  asleep  while  the  dew 
of  life  was  yet  fresh  on  her  brow  ;  the  young  wife 
who  glided  out  of  the  arms,  strong  but  utterly 
powerless,  that  would  have  held  her  forever ;  the 
young  mother  who  could  have  found  her  angel- 
garments  scarcely  whiter  than  the  robes  of  her 
sacred  motherhood  ;  —  so,  with  tear-dimmed  eyes, 
we  press  the  anemones  to  our  white  lips,  and  bless 


SUMMER   GONE.  829 

tlie  memories,  sad,  yet  passing  sweet,  which  they 
awaken.  There  is  a  pain  which  is  better  and 
higher  and  hoUer  than  pleasure.  Since  that  morn- 
ing I  have  seen  many  anemones  springing  up  from 
their  warm  bed  of  dry  leaves  which  the  fall  frosts 
scattered  and  the  fall  winds  spread,  and  where, 
safe  as  in  the  hollow  of  His  hand  who  metes  out 
heaven  with  a  span,  they  slept  to  a  glad  resurrec- 
tion ;  but  none  came  so  near  me,  none  so  took 
hold  of  my  strength,  as  the  stray  little  cluster 
that  awoke  first  in  the  embrace  of  the  sun  on  the 
edge  of  that  Dismal  Swamp. 

Faerily,  daintily,  tricksily,  they  troop  around 
me  now,  —  the  sun-born,  gala-robed  sprites.  Ad- 
vancing, receding,  bending  their  lithe  forms  in 
airy  dances  to  the  music  of  vocal  brooks,  rocking 
dreamily  back  and  forth  in  the  lap  of  soft  south 
gales,  surging  into  my  soul,  but  mocking  my 
yearning  arms,  now  pensive  with  dewy  tears, 
now  laughing  softly  to  little,  cooling  showers,  now 
drunken  with  the  fierce  wine  of  the  northwest 
wind,  they  circle  me  in  elfin  ring.  The  wild  col- 
umbine flings  out  his  scarlet  banner,  but  gives  me 
no  Open  Sesame  to  the  vaults  where  his  nectared 
honey  is  stored.  The  gay  geranium  leaps  from 
his  lurking-place  beneath  the  maple-trees,  but 
I  have  no  charm  to  bid  him  stay.  The  tawny 
wood-lily  glares  sylvan  rage,  and  will  not  be 
soothed  by  my  caresses,  but  his  white-bosomed 
sister  in  the  valley  pours  crisp  coolness  from  her 


330  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

crystal  cups,  and  whispers  of  rippling  waters,  and 
golden  sunshine  glinting  down  the  greenw^ood. 
The  spiraeas  rise  before  me  still  and  stately;  the 
vervain  shoots  at  me  his  slender  arrows,  purple- 
tipped  ;  the  honeysuckle  vies  with  the  sweet-brier 
to  flood  me  wuth  heavenly  odors  ;  and  the  garden 
of  God  is  my  perpetual  heritage. 

"  We  all  do  fade  as  a  leaf."  The  sad  voice 
whispers  through  my  soul,  and  a  shiver  creeps 
over  from  the  churchyard.  "  How  does  a  leaf 
fade  ?  "  It  is  a  deeper,  richer,  stronger  voice,  with 
a  ring  and  an  echo  in  it,  and  the  shiver  levels 
into  peace.  I  go  out  upon  the  October  hills  and 
question  the  Genii  of  the  woods.  "  How  does  a 
leaf  fade?"  Grandly,  magnificently,  imperially, 
so  that  the  glory  of  its  coming  is  eclipsed  by  the 
glory  of  its  departing  ;  —  thus  the  forests  make 
answer  to-day.  The  tender  bud  of  April  opens  its 
bosom  to  the  wooing  sun.  From  the  soft  airs  of 
May  and  the  clear  sky  of  June  it  gathers  green- 
ness and  strength.  Through  all  the  summer  its 
manifold  lips  are  opened  to  every  passing  breeze, 
and  great  draughts  of  health  course  through  its 
delicate  veins,  and  meander  down  to  the  sturdy 
bark,  the  busy  sap,  the  tiny  flower,  and  the  ma- 
turing fruit,  bearing  life  to  the  present,  and  treas- 
uring up  promise  for  the  future. 

Then  its  work  is  done,  and  it  goes  to  its  burial, 
—  not  mournfully,  not  reluctantly,  but  joyously. 


SUMMER  GONE.  331 

as  to  a  festival.  Its  grave-clothes  wear  no  fune- 
real look.  It  robes  itself  in  splendor.  Solomon 
in  all  his  glory  was  not  arrayed  like  one  of  these. 
First  there  is  a  flash  of  crimson  in  the  low  lands, 
then  a  glimmer  of  yellow  on  the  hill-side,  then, 
rushing  on,  exultant,  reckless,  rioting  in  color, 
grove  vies  with  grove,  till  the  woods  are  all  aflame. 
Here  the  sunlight  streams  through  the  pale  gold 
tresses  of  the  maple,  serene  and  spiritual,  like  the 
aureole  of  a  saint;  there  it  lingers  in  bold  dalli- 
ance with  the  dusky  orange  of  the  walnut.  The 
fierce  heart  of  the  tropics  beats  in  the  blood-red 
branches  that  surge  against  deep  solemn  w^alls 
of  cypress  and  juniper.  Yonder,  a  sober,  but  not 
sombre,  russet  tones  down  the  flaunting  vermilion. 
The  intense  glow  of  scarlet  struggles  for  suprem- 
acy with  the  quiet  sedateness  of  brown,  and  the 
numberless  tints  of  year-long  green  come  in  every- 
where to  enliven,  and  soothe,  and  subdue,  and 
harmonize.  So  the  leaf  fades,  —  brilliant,  gor- 
geous, gay,  rejoicing,  —  as  a  bride  adorned  for  her 
husband,  as  a  king  goes  to  his  coronation. 

But  the  frosts  come  whiter  and  whiter.  The 
nights  grow  longer  and  longer.  Ice  glitters  in  the 
morning  light,  and  the  clouds  shiver  with  snow. 
The  forests  lose  their  flush.  The  hectic  dies  into 
sere.  The  little  leaf  can  no  longer  breathe  the 
strength-giving  air,  nor  feel  juicy  life  stirring  in  its 
veins.  Fainter  and  fainter  grows  its  hold  upon 
the  protecting  tree.     A  strong  wind   comes  and 


332  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

loosens  its  last  clasp,  and  bears  it  tenderly  to  earth. 
A  whirl,  an  eddy,  a  rustle,  and  all  is  over,  —  no, 
not  all,  its  work  is  not  yet  done.  It  sinks  upon 
the  protecting  earth,  and,  Antaeus-like,  gathers 
strength  from  the  touch,  and  begins  a  new  life.  It 
joins  hands  with  myriads  of  its  mates,  and  takes 
up  again  its  work  of  benevolence.  No  longer  sen- 
sitive itself  to  frosts  and  snows,  it  wraps  in  its 
warm  bosom  the  frail  little  anemones,  and  the 
delicate  spring  beauties,  that  can  scarcely  bide  the 
rigors  of  our  pitiless  winters,  and,  nestling  close 
in  that  fond  embrace,  they  sleep  securely  till  the 
spring  sun  wakens  them  to  the  smile  of  blue  skies, 
and  the  song  of  dancing  brooks.  Deeper  into  the 
earth  go  the  happy  leaves,  mingling  with  the  moist 
soil,  drinking  the  gentle  dews,  cradling  a  thousand 
tender  lives  in  theirs,  and  springing  again  in  new 
forms,  —  an  eternal  cycle  of  life  and  death  "for- 
ever spent,  renewed  forever." 

We  all  do  fade  as  a  leaf.  Change,  thank  God, 
is  the  essence  of  life.  "  Passing  away  "  is  written 
on  all  things  ;  and  passing  away  is  passing  on 
from  strength  to  strength,  from  glory  to  glory. 
Spring  has  its  growth,  summer  its  fruitage,  and 
autumn  its  festive  in-gathering.  The  spring  of 
eager  preparation  waxes  into  the  summer  of  noble 
work ;  mellowing,  in  its  turn,  into  the  serene  au- 
tumn, the  golden-brown  haze  of  October,  when 
the  soul  may  robe  itself  in  jubilant  drapery, 
awaiting    the    welcome    command,    "  Come    up 


SUMMER   GONE.  833 

higher,"  where  mortahty  shall  be  swallowed  up 
in  life. 

Why,  then,  should  autumn  tinge  our  thoughts 
with  sadness  ?  We  fade  as  the  leaf,  and  the  leaf 
fades  only  to  revivify.  Though  it  fall,  it  shall  rise 
again.  Does  the  bud  fear  to  become  a  blossom,  or 
the  blossom  shudder  as  it  swells  into  fruit,  and 
shall  the  redeemed  weep  that  they  must  become 
glorified  ?  Strange  inconsistency.  We  faint  with 
the  burden  and  heat  of  the  day.  We  bow  down 
under  the  crosses  that  are  laid  upon  our  shoulders. 
We  are  bruised  and  torn  by  the  snares  and  pitfalls 
which  beset  our  way,  and  into  which  our  unwary 
feet  often  fall.  We  are  famished,  and  foot-sore, 
and  travel-stained  from  our  long  journey,  and  yet 
we  are  saddened  by  tokens  that  we  shall  pass 
away  from  all  these.  Away  from  sin  and  sorrow, 
from  temptation  and  fall,  from  disappointment  and 
weary  waiting,  and  a  fearful  looking  for  of  evil,  to 
purity  and  holiness,  and  the  full  fruition  of  every 
hope,  —  bliss  which  eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  ear 
heard,  nor  heart  conceived,  —  to  a  world  whence 
all  that  made  this  dreary  is  forever  banished,  and 
where  all  that  made  this  delightful  is  forever  re- 
newed and  increased,  —  a  world  where  the  activ- 
ities and  energies  of  the  soul  shall  have  full  scope, 
and  love  and  recognition  wait  upon  its  steps  for- 
ever. 

Let  him  alone  fear  who  does  not  fade  as  the 
leaf,  —  him  whose  sources  are  not  in  God,  and 


334  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

who  does  not  draw  his  hfe  thence,  —  him  whose 
spring  is  gathering  no  strength,  whose  summer  is 
maturing  no  fruit,  and  whose  autumn  shall  have 
no  vintage.  Is  not  this  the  real  sorrow  of  us  all  ? 
not  a  dread  of  change,  but  a  secret  consciousness 
of  wasted  power,  —  of  disloyalty  to  God  as  the 
supreme  object  of  our  love  and  service  ?  Yet  even 
here  the  fading  leaf  brings  hope.  Our  future  is 
always  before  us.  The  past  is  fixed.  No  tears 
can  wash  away  its  facts.  Let  us  waste  no  vain 
regrets  upon  it,  but,  from  the  wisdom  which  its 
very  mistakes  and  sins  have  bequeathed  us,  start 
afresh  on  the  race.  Though  yesterday  we  were 
weak,  and  selfish,  and  indolent,  let  us  to-day,  at 
this  moment,  begin  to  be  strong,  and  brave,  and 
helpful,  and  just,  and  generous,  and  considerate, 
and  tender,  and  truthful,  and  pure,  and  patient, 
and  forgiving.  "  Now "  is  a  glorious  word. 
"  Henceforth "    is   always   within   our  grasp. 

"  0,  my  soul,  look  not  behind  thee.     Thou  hast  work  to  do  at  last: 
Let  the  brave  toil  of  the  Present  overarch  the  crumbling  Past. 
Build  thy  great  acts  high  and  higher,  build  them  in  the  conquered 

sod, 
Where  thy  weakness  first  fell  bleeding,  where  thy  first  prayer  rose 

to  God." 


Winter. 


'"S^  OME  people  have  a  way,  you  probably, 
my  dear  friend,  among  the  rest,  of 
going  into  the  country.  When  the 
sun  beats  down  hot  and  hard,  when 
the  earth  gets  parched  and  arid,  when  the  fields 
have  gone  gray  for  lack  of  rain,  and  all  the  little 
leaves  have  curled  themselves  to  dry  death,  and 
the  heavens  are  dull,  shimmering  brass,  and  the 
roads  are  ankle-deep  in  fine,  powdery  dust,  and 
the  thirsty  oxen  stand  panting  in  muddy  bogs  that 
were  once  pools  of  water,  and  the  grasshopper  has 
become  a  burden,  and  your  desire  for  everything 
but  ice-water  has  failed,  —  then  you  wrap  the 
chairs  in  brown  holland,  turn  the  pictures  to  the 
wall,  carry  the  silver  down  to  the  bank,  pack  a 
dry-goods  store  into  your  trunk,  leave  your  cool, 
blinded,  shaded  city  house  with  its  large  rooms,  its 
ample  baths,  and  its  attentive  well-trained  servants, 
join  a  great  dusty  caravan,  in  a  little  dusty,  cin- 
dery,  clamorous  railroad-car,  whirl  off  to  a  great 
hotel,  pitch  about  among  hackmen  and  porters  till 


336  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

you  have  ensconced  yourself  somewhere  in  a  seven 
by  nine  room,  with  the  clatter  of  a  legion  of  feet 
continually  above,  around,  beneath,  and  the  pro- 
longed torture  of  a  gong  forever  summoning  you 
to  the  two-hundredth  part  of  a  table,  when  you 
unpack  your  dry  goods,  and  put  on  your  flounces 
and  laces  and  diamonds,  and  sit  up  straight,  grace- 
fill,  and  lady-like,  and  dine  off  the  same  meats, 
and  hop  with  the  same  hoppers,  and  talk  with  the 
same  talkers,  and  see  the  same  fa^es,  and  do  the 
same  things  you  did  yesterday  at  home ;  and  this 
you  call  "  going  into  the  country." 

Or,  being  a  notch  lower  in  the  social  scale,  and 
not  able  to  contribute  your  part  to  the  splendors 
of  a  great  establishment,  you  go  to  a  little  village, 
eight  miles  away,  and  engage  a  southwest  cham- 
ber in  a  house  set  on  a  hill,  without  blinds,  with  a 
tank  of  rain-water  directly  under  the  window,  a 
feather  bed,  wooden  chairs,  and  red-flowered  car- 
pet, where  you  slumber  out  your  mornings,  simmer 
out  your  middays,  and  fight  out  ^our  nights  with 
mosquitos, — to  all  of  which  I  have  not  the  slightest 
objection  —  if  you  like  it.  It  is  change,  and  that, 
after  all,  is  what  you  need ;  and  even  if  you  have 
jumped  out  of  the  frying-pan  into  the  fire,  it  will 
serve  to  make  the  frying-pan  more  tolerable  when 
you  go  back  to  it.  But  if,  having  done  this,  you 
consider  that  you  have  been  in  the  country,  that 
you  have  exhausted  nature,  and  that  there  is  noth- 
ing new  under  the  sun  for  you  to  see,  why,  I  must 


WINTER.  337 

take  the  liberty  of  respectfully  informing  you  that 
you  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about. 

Nature  is  very  exacting.  You  may  make  her  a 
flying  visit  in  August,  and  she  will  indeed  unfold 
to  you  the  beauties  of  dew-drop,  and  thunder- 
shower,  and  evening  sky  ;  but  to  know  her  in  her 
wholeness,  to  drink  in  full  measure  the  "  life  that 
hides  in  marsh  and  wold,"  to  conceive  all  her 
magnificent  possibilities,  you  must  woo  her  from 
New  Year  to  New  Year,  and  every  New  Year 
shall  bring  you  a  fairer  picture,  a  richer  blessing, 
than  the  last. 

You  shall  look  out  upon  a  gray,  frozen  earth, 
and  a  gray,  chilling  sky.  The  trees  stretch  forth 
naked  branches  imploringly.  The  air  pinches  and 
pierces  you,  a  homesick  desolation  clasps  around 
your  shivering,  shrinking  heart,  and  then  God 
works  a  miracle.  The  windows  of  heaven  are 
opened,  and  there  comes  forth  a  blessing.  The 
gray  sky  unlocks  her  treasures,  and  softness  and 
whiteness  and  warmth  and  beauty  float  gently 
down  upon  the  evil  and  the  good.  Through  all 
the  long  night,  while  you  sleep,  the  work  goes 
noiselessly  on.  Earth  puts  off  her  earthliness,  and 
when  the  morning  comes  she  stands  before  you  in 
the  white  robes  of  a  saint.  The  sun  hallows  her 
with  baptismal  touch,  and  she  is  glorified.  There 
is  no  longer  on  her  pure  brow  anything  common 
or  unclean.  The  Lord  God  hath  wrapped  her 
ibout  with  light  as  with  a  garment.     His  Divine 

15  V 


338  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

charity  hath  covered  the  multitude  of  her  sins, 
and  there  is  no  scar  or  stain,  no  "  mark  of  her 
shame,"  no  "  seal  of  her  sorrow."  The  far-off 
hills  swell  their  white  purity  against  the  pure  blue 
of  the  heaven.  The  sheeted  splendor  of  the  fields 
sparkles  back  a  thousand  suns  for  one.  The  trees 
lose  their  nakedness  and  misery  and  desolation, 
and  every  slenderest  twig  is  clothed  upon  with 
glory.  All  the  roofs  are  blanketed  with  snow  ; 
all  the  fences  are  bordered.  Every  gate-post  is 
statuesque  ;  every  wood-pile  is  a  marble  quarry. 
Harshest  outlines  are  softened.  Instead  of  angles, 
and  ruggedness,  and  squalor,  there  are  billowy, 
fleecy  undulations.  Nothing  so  rough,  so  com- 
mon, so  ugly,  but  it  has  been  transfigured  into 
newness  of  life.  Everywhere  the  earth  has  re- 
ceived beauty  for  ashes,  the  oil  of  joy  for  mourn- 
ing, the  garment  of  praise  for  the  spirit  of  heavi- 
ness. Without  sound  of  hammer  or  axe,  without 
the  grating  of  saw  or  the  click  of  chisel,  prose  has 
been  sculptured  into  poetry.  The  actual  has  put 
on  the  silver  veil  of  the  ideal. 

Will  you  look  more  closely  ?  A  part  is,  if 
possible,  more  beautiful  than  the  whole.  On  the 
Brobdignagian  texture  of  your  coat-sleeve,  one 
wanderincr  snow-flake  has  alighted.  Gaze  at  it  or 
ever  it  vanishes  from  your  sight.  What  a  world 
of  symmetry  it  discloses  to  you  !  What  an  airy, 
fairy,  crystalline  splendor  !  What  delicate  spires 
of  feathery  light  shoot  out  from  the  centre  with 


WINTER.  339 

tiny  fringes,  and  rosy,  radiating  bars.  In  all  your 
life  you  have  never  seen  anything  more  beautiful, 
more  perfect,  and  you  may  stand  "  breast-high  " 
in  just  such  marvellous  radiance.  *  Talk  of  rob- 
bers' caves  abd  magic  lamps  I  No  Eastern  im- 
agination, rioting  in  "  barbaric  pearl  and  gold," 
can  eclipse  the  magnificence  in  which  you  live 
and  move  and  have  your  being. 

And  there  is  a  deeper  beauty  than  this.  It 
is  not  only  that  the  snow  makes  fair  what  was 
good  before,  but  it  is  a  messenger  of  love 
from  heaven,  bearing  glad  tidings  of  great  joy. 
Hope  for  the  future  comes  down  to  the  earth  in 
every  tiny  snow-flake.  Underneath,  as  they 
span  the  hill-side,  and  lie  lightly  piled  in  the 
valleys,  the  earth-spirits  and'  fairies  are  ceaselessly 
working  out  their  multifold  plans.  The  grasses 
hold  high  carnival  safe  under  their  crystal  roof. 
The  roses  and  lilies  keep  holiday.  The  snow- 
drops and  hyacinths,  and  the  pink-hpped  May- 
flower, wait  as  they  that  watch  for  the  morning. 
The  life  that  stirs  beneath  thrills  to  the  life  that 
stirs  above.  The  spring  sun  will  mount  higher 
and  higher  in  the  heavens  ;  the  sweet  snow  will 
sink  down  into  the  arms  of  the  violets,  and,  at 
the  word  of  the  Lord,  the  earth  shall  come  up 
once  more  as  a  bride  adorned  for  her  husband. 

And  "  as  the  rain  cometh  down,  and  the  snow 
from  heaven,  and  returneth  not  thither,  but 
watereth    the    earth,   and    maketh   it   bring  forth 


340  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

and  bud,  that  it  may  give  seed  to  the  sower, 
and  bread  to  the  eater:  so  shall  my  word  be 
that  goeth  forth  out  of  my  mouth  ;  it  shall  not 
return  unto  me  void,  but  it  shall  accomplish  that 
which  I  please,  and  it  shall  prosper  in  the  thing 
whereto  I  sent  it." 

Native  land  !  Fatherland !  Is  not  the  word 
spoken  to   you  ? 

O  beautiful,  sorrowful  country !  for  whom  the 
watch-fires  of  freedom  have  been  lighted  on  the 
hills,  for  whom  the  flames  of  sin  lurk  ghastly 
and  baleful  in  the  valleys  ;  baptized  in  the  blood 
of  heroes  ;  consecrated  with  the  prayers  of  saints  ; 
precious  for  your  priceless  past,  unspeakably  pre- 
cious for  the  hope  of  your  mighty  future  ;  for  all 
your  faults  never  more  dear  than  now ;  rocked 
with  the  throes  of  a  mortal  agony  ;  shuddering 
through  all  your  frame  in  the  slimy  coil  of  a 
monster;  your  young  strength  once  prostrated, 
but  now  alive,  your  young  life  poisoned,  but  re- 
newed again  ;  —  shall  not  "  Nature  bring  you 
solace"?  Already  the  winter  is  past,  the  flowers 
appear  on  the  earth ;  the  time  of  the  singing  of 
birds  is  come,  and  the  voice  of  the  turtle  is 
heard  in  our  land.  Shall  we  not  therein  read  a 
sweet  prophecy  ?  The  winter  of  your  discontent 
shall  be  made  glorious  summer.  You  too  shall 
go  out  with  joy,  and  be  led  forth  with  peace ;  the 
mountains  and  the  hills  shall  break  forth  before 
you  into   singing,    and    all    the  trees  of  the  field 


WINTER.  341 

sTiall  clap  their  hands.  Instead  of  the  thorn 
shall  come  up  the  fir-tree  ;  and  instead  of  the 
brier  shall  come  up  the  myrtle-tree  ;  and  it  shall 
be  to  the  Lord  for  a  name,  for  an  everlasting 
sign  that   shall  not  be  cut  off. 

There  is  nothing  like  winter  in  the  country  to 
develop  one's  resources  and  mature  one's  graces. 
Blocked  up  by  the  snow,  driven  in  by  the  cold, 
forced  to  subside  on  yourself,  it  stands  you  in 
hand  to  be  agreeable  and  inventive.  If  your 
chimney  smokes,  if  your  door-knobs  loosen  and 
come  off,  if  the  rain  soaks  through  the  walls,  if 
the  roof  is  leaky,  if  holes  yawn  in  your  shoes, 
if  your  skate-straps  are  too  short,  or  your  sled- 
runner  is  broken,  or  your  note-paper  gives  out, 
you  cannot  jump  upon  the  train  and  go  to  the 
next  market-town  to  be  set  up  again.  You  must 
either  wait  for  the  spring  or  a  January  thaw,  or 
you  must  contrive  some  remedy  yourself. 

If  your  Decembers  have  been  genially  warmed 
into  Junes  without  any  intervention  of  your  own, 
and  you  find  yourself  suddenly  in  a  remote  village, 
under  the  necessity  of  attending  to  your  fire  or 
going  without  it,  you  will  often  be  in  that  state 
of  mind  which  will  demand  for  solace  a  constant 
repetition  of  the  old  saw,  "  It  takes  a  fool  to  make 
a  fire."  If,  worse  than  this,  you  suffer  yourself 
to  be  lured  by  siren  songs  of  warmth,  conven- 
ience, and  economy  from  the  good  old  groves  of 


342  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

hickory  and  oak  and  maple,  to  try,  like  the  old 
man  in  the  spelling-book,  what  virtue  there  is  in 
stones,  you  will  have  an  admirable  opportunity  to 
cultivate  the  virtue  of  patience ;  and  patience  is  a 
divine  virtue.  When  we  look  at  God,  holy,  just, 
and  kind,  and  at  his  creatures,  rebelling  against 
him,  cruel  to  each  other,  polluting  themselves  with 
sin,  and  violating  his  wise  laws,  —  and  yet  see  how 
he  ever  makes  his  sun  to  rise  upon  evil  and  good, 
and  sends  his  rain  upon  just  and  unjust,  contin- 
uing: to  all  alike  the  blessings  of  seed-time  and 
harvest,  —  we  are  ready  to  say,  that  patience  is  of 
all  virtues  the  most  divine. 

But  it  is  not  only  divine,  it  is  pre-eminently  a 
human  virtue.  It  w^orks  into  daily  life  a  sweet- 
ness, a  balm,  a  peacemaker,  a  consoler.  It  makes 
home  happy.  It  shames  vice.  It  disarms  ill- 
temper.  It  goes  far  to  make  society  tolerable. 
So  important  is  this  virtue  esteemed  in  the  Divine 
economy,  that  a  large  part  of  our  experience  is 
framed  so  as  to  strengthen  and  improve  it.  We 
deviate  into  no  path  in  which  we  cannot  find  some 
circumstance  fitted  to  exercise  and  perfect  it.  It 
is,  however,  a  solemn  thought,  that  opportunities 
wasted  are  burdens  upon  our  shoulders.  If  we 
grow  wicked  by  a  means  which  was  intended  and 
adapted  to  make  us  grow  good,  w^e  grow  a  great 
deal  more  wicked  than  we  should  if  such  means 
had  never  been  tried.  A  blessing  turned  into  a 
curse  is  doubly  accursed.     Sorrows  that  do  not 


WINTER,  343 

soften,  harden.  Life  is  full  of  little  occasions  which 
may  help  us  to  grow  in  grace,  and  may  show  us 
whether  we  have  already  done  so ;  but  neglected 
or  perverted,  they  deteriorate  us. 

But  these  reflections  will  not  occur  to  you  in 
the  early  stages  of  your  experience  with  coal  fires. 
On  the  contrary,  you  will  begin  your  work  full 
of  hope.  Careful  to  follow  to  the  letter  every 
direction,  you  are  confident  of  success.  With 
half-contemptuous  commiseration,  you  think  of 
some  cousin,  or  aunt,  or  friend,  who  has  been 
appalled  by  the  lions  in  the  way,  and  turned 
back.  You  consider  it  a  weakness  of  character, 
rather  to  be  pitied  than  severely  censured.  You 
are  charitable  to  all  the  world  as  you  lay  in 
your  kindlings  with  mathematical  regularity, — 
paper,  shavings,  splinters,  sticks.  You  apply 
the  match.  A  furious  roar  springs  up.  You 
start  back,  half  delighted,  half  scared.  What  if 
the  chimney  should  catch  fire.  You  hustle  on 
the  coal  to  smother  the  exceeding  fierceness.  The 
roar  crackles,  sputters,  stifles,  and  dies  the  death. 
There  is  a  pause.  You  open  the  door,  and  peep 
in  furtively.  A  faint  suggestion  of  flame  and  half 
a  dozen  sparks.  A  second  peep, — the  flames  have 
disappeared,  the  sparks  are  diminished.  A  third 
peep,  —  black  as  Acheron.  The  kindlings  burned 
charmingly,  but  they  mistook  means  and  ends, 
and  kindled  nothing.  You  put  in  your  hand  and 
pry  under  the  surface  to  see  if  anything  is  hap- 


344  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

pening.  Wliew  I  Who  could  imagine  that  any- 
thing so  cold-looking  could  be  so  hot,  or  anything 
so  hard-looking  could  be  so  smutty.  But  your 
black  fingers  will  be  atoned  for  to-morrow  b}^ 
three  little  white  blisters  at  this  moment  develop- 
ing under  the  blackness.  Then  you  turn  a  crank 
and  let  the  coal  down,  that  you  may  take  it  out 
and  try  again.  Down  it  comes  crashing  into  the 
drawer.  You  proceed  to  pull  it  out.  Something 
sticks.  You  pull  and  twist,  and  jerk  it  in 
vain.  You  are  forced  to  thrust  your  arm  into 
the  stove,  and  take  the  coal  out  by  handfuls. 
Then  you  begin  anew,  and  after  consuming  wood 
enough  to  heat  your  room  all  day,  and  time 
enough  for  as  much  more  wood  to  grow,  you 
succeed  in  getting  a  fire.  But  you  do  not  mind 
the  time  spent,  for  you  say  to  yourself,  "  It  is 
once  for  all."  You  flatter  yourself  that,  once 
kindled,  it  will  stay  kindled.  You  are  doomed  to 
disappointment.  You  open  the  stove  door  in  the 
morning,  and  it  is  "  upper,  nether,  and  surround- 
ing darkness,"  abysmal  and  dismal.  You  have 
to  go  through  the  whole  process  again,  with  the 
added  misery  of  ashes,  which  come,  puff!  into 
your  face,  a  suffocating  cloud,  on  the  slightest 
provocation.  You  plod  on  for  a  few  days.  Every 
separate  member  of  your  family  has  a  separate 
opinion,  and  proffers  different  advice,  —  all  entirely 
conjectural  and  at  random.  You  have  recourse  to 
the  experienced.     One  advises  you  to  shake  down 


WINTER.  345 

the  old  coal  before  you  put  on  new,  which  you  do 
vigorously,  and  shake  all  the  life  out  of  it.  Then 
you  are  told  that  you  must  keep  it  quiet,  and  you 
tread  gingerly,  laying  in  the  fresh  coal  carefully 
with  your  own  shuddering  fingers,  —  as  if  you 
were  planning  a  surprise,  and  designed  to  get  it 
on  fire  before  it  should  know  what  was  going  on ; 
but  the  enemy  is  on  the  alert,  and  baffles  you  with 
a  "  masterly  inactivity."  Meanwhile  there  comes 
a  cold  snap,  and  the  thermometer  plumps  down  to 
zero.  Everything  about  the  house  freezes  solid, 
and  breaks.  Friends  who  call  are  pressed  to  have 
a  shawl,  and  stop  to  dinner.  Bores  are  blandly 
invited,  in  rural  formula,  to  "  take  off  their  coats 
and  make  themselves  at  home."  Then  somebody 
tells  you  that  the  grate  must  be  poked  to  keep  it 
clear.  Submissive,  you  procure  a  sharp  stick  in 
lieu  of  a  poker,  which,  if  it  exists  at  all,  is  not  visi- 
ble to  the  naked  eye,  and,  like  any  Parsee,  prone 
on  the  floor  you  fall  before  your  swart  divinity, 
and  ram  the  stick  up  under  the  grate.  Down 
come  the  ashes  in  a  gray  shower  over  your  sleeve 
and  hand,  covering  every  thread  of  the  one,  and 
filling  every  pore  of  the  other  ;  but  desperately 
you  poke  on,  till  light  shines  through.  Sometimes 
your  exertions  will  be  rewarded  with  success,  and 
sometimes  not ;  and  this  is  your  great  perplexity. 
Everything  is  inconsequent.  Similar  causes  pro- 
duce dissimilar  effects.  You  do,  with  slavish  imi- 
tation,  everything   you   are   told  to  do,  till  it  is 

15* 


346  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

shown  to  be  useless,  when  you  give  rein  to  genius 
and  brancli  off  on  your  own  account,  in  brilHant 
and  startling  combinations.  You  shake  down,  and 
refrain  from  shaking.  You  poke,  and  you  cease 
poking.  You  set  the  wood  on  fire  before  you 
put  the  coal  on,  and  you  put  the  coal  on  before 
you  set  the  wood  on  fire.  You  open  everything 
openable,  and  shut  everything  shutable,  and  you 
never  have  any  inkling  of  what  will  happen  next. 
There  is  no  satisfaction  when  the  fire  does  burn, 
for  it  does  not  burn  logically.  It  is  an  isolated 
fact.  It  does  not  establish  anything,  nor  indi- 
cate anything.  No  palpable  reason  exists  why  it 
should  burn  this  time,  that  did  not  apply  with 
equal  force  to  the  four  previous  occasions  when 
it  declined  burning.  It  ought  to  have  gone  out 
last  nicrht  as  well  as  the  night  before.  It  is  like 
the  proverbial  woman,  — 

"  If  she  will,  she  will,  you  may  depend  on  't, 
If  she  won't,  she  won't,  and  there  's  an  end  on  't." 

It  is  like  an  over  sensitive  man,  —  one  of 
those  disagreeable  unfortunates  who  are  known 
as  "touchy."  If  you  don't  treat  it  "just  so," 
it  is  all  over  with  you.  Its  dignity  is  as  ticklish 
as  that  of  our  self-made  aristocrats.  You  can 
scarcely  look  askance  at  it  without  disturbing  its 
equilibrium.  You  begin  to  believe  that  some 
"  imp  of  the  perverse  "  has  taken  up  his  abode 
there,  —  that  some  unhoused  gnome  is  wreaking 
vengeance  on  you  for  his  violated   home,  —  and 


WINTER.  347 

you  fall  gradually  into  a  pugnacious  mood.  You 
get  a  way  of  looking  at  the  coal  as  a  malicious  and 
skilful  foe,  and  it  is  a  drawn  battle  between  you. 
You  grow,  as  the  country-people  say,  "short- 
waisted."  The  harder  it  is  for  the  coal  to  kindle, 
the  easier  it  becomes  for  you.  Your  conversation 
turns  growly  and  snappish.  You  wax  dangerous. 
Every  inquiry  as  to  your  progress,  you  get  to  look 
on  as  an  insult.  You  suifer  under  a  sense  of  in- 
jury. You  feel  as  if  the  world  and  the  elements 
were  in  league  against  you.  You  are  sensitive  of 
the  slightest  allusion  to  fire.  You  have  a  kind  of 
pyrophobia. 

No,  my  dear  friend,  this  will  never  do.  This  is 
all  wrong.  This  is  the  abuse,  not  the  use,  of  coal. 
You  are  wasting  anthracitic  opportunities  for  the 
development  of  the  noble  virtue  of  patience.  Be 
not  deceived.  Martyrdom  comes  to  but  few* 
Few  are  called  to  resist  unto  blood,  striving 
against  sin,  but  many  are  called  to  resist  imto 
inconvenience,  restraint,  and  self-denial  ;  and  an 
incessant  pin-pricking  is  perhaps  harder  to  bear 
than  the  swift-descending  axe,  or  the  cranch  of  a 
lion's  jaws  ;  and  if  you  come  off  conqueror  from 
the  one,  you  shall  in  no  wise  lose  your  reward,  any 
more  than  he  who  calmly  faced  the  horrors  of  the 
other.  If  the  trials  to  which  you  are  subjected 
seem  all  the  more  severe  from  being  so  petty,  re- 
member that  Kome  was  not  built  in  a  day,  and  it 
is  the   constant,  hourly  chipping  at  the  quarried 


348  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

marble  that  is  to  rear  in  the  end  —  the  temple  of 
God.  Remember,  too,  that  however  out  of  joint 
the  matter  may  be,  fretting  will  never  mend  it.  It 
is  bad  to  feel  your  hands  growing  rough,  but  it  is 
worse  to  let  your  temper  keep  them  company.  It 
ruffles  you  to  hear  of  stoves  that  run  like  a  clock 
from  November  to  May,  but  it  won't  smooth 
you  to  go  into  a  rage  about  it.  It  is  aggravat- 
ing to  have  the  fire  burn  up  and  warm  the  room 
delightfully,  just  as  the  stove-man,  for  whom  you 
have  sent  to  see  what  the  trouble  is,  arrives,  and 
then  to  have  it  go  out  as  soon  as  he  does ;  but 
what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ?  If  you  are 
wise,  you  will  remember  that  you  are  only  sharing 
the  common  lot.  You  will  think  of  the  great 
multitudes  who  have  passed  through  the  same 
tribulations,  and  the  summer  atmosphere  of  a  thou- 
sand happy  homes  will  beckon  you  on  to  victory. 
You  will  think,  with  admiring  gratitude,  of  the  man 
who  first  discovered  the  combustibility  and  practi- 
cability of  coal.  You  will  see  the  fatherliness  of 
your  Creator  in  making  this  wonderful  provision 
for  you,  —  how  the  giant  trees  leaped  heavenward 
at  his  bidding,  and  at  his  bidding  died,  to  become 
in  death  your  ministers.  What  wisdom  and  be- 
nevolence wrought  this  marvellous  work  in  the 
great  laboratories  of  the  earth,  —  scooped  out 
those  vast  basins,  piled  therein  these  inexhaustible 
treasures,  more  precious  than  gold,  and  so  took 
care  for  your  comfort  ages  and  ages  before  you 


WINTER.  349 

were  born !  And  will  you  be  petulant  because 
you  carry  your  end  of  the  pole  a  little  awkwardly 
at  first  ?  Shall  your  orisons  and  vespers  be  the 
prayer  of  the  daughters  of  the  horse-leech  ?  Will 
you  not  be  content  that  the  Lord  has  given  you 
the  coal,  but  will  you  require  him  to  work  a  mir- 
acle to  kindle  it  ?  For  you  fail  only  because  you 
are  fighting  against  the  nature  of  things,  and  here 
is  another  lesson  which  you  may  learn,  —  the  in- 
exorableness  of  law.  Not  a  spark  of  fire,  not 
the  smallest  black  coal-speck  on  your  finger,  but 
follows  the  law  of  its  being,  fixed,  relentless. 
Your  intentions  are  good.  You  mean  to  do  right. 
But  you  are  transgressing  some  chemical  or  me- 
chanical law,  and  the  dumb  coal,  which  has  never 
deviated  from  rectitude,  is  a  swift  witness  against 
you.  With  nature,  ignorance  is  no  excuse  for 
transgression.  The  penalty  follows  surely  on  the 
heels  of  sin.  Is  the  law  of  matter  more  fixed  than 
the  law  of  mind  ?  If  you  cannot  sin  against  life^ 
less  stones  with  impunity,  can  you  sin  against  a 
living  soul,  and  go  scot  free  ?  If  a  right  purpose 
will  not  kindle  a  fire  without  wise  means,  will  it 
fashion  a  son's  mind  ?  Do  you  not  see  how  the 
bhnd  may  mislead  the  blind,  with  utmost  tender- 
ness, to  destruction  ? 

Above  all  things,  do  not  "give  up."  Rise  to 
the  height  of  the  emergency.  Be  master  of  your- 
self. Get  the  victory  over  impatience ;  so  from 
the  stubborn  coal  shall  you  express  the  oil  of  joy. 


350 


COUNTRY  LIVING. 


and  find  beauty  for  ashes.     Every  lambent  tongue 

of  flame  shall  be  to  you  a  messenger  from  heaven, 

and  every  day  a  pentecost.     With  a  heart  open  to 

all  pure   influences,   you    shall    feel    the   full 

force  of  those  sweet  words,  "  Lo !  I  am 

with   you   always,"    and  with  eyes 

which  the  Lord  hath  opened, 

you  shall  see  "  sermons  in 

stones,   and  good   in 

everything." 


My  Flower-Bed. 


AM  oppressed  with  a  feeling  that, 
whatever  welcome  my  literary  venture 
may  meet,  I  have  not,  so  far  as  appears 
in  this  volume,  made  a  brilliant  figure 
at  gardening.  I  think,  therefore,  tliat  I  ought, 
in  justice  to  myself,  to  relate  the  distinguished 
success  which  attended  my  second  attempt.  An 
ordinary  person  would  have  been  deterred,  by  so 
unparalleled  a  series  of  disasters  as  befell  me,  from 
ever  making  another  endeavor ;  but,  for  my  part, 
I  like  always  to  retire  with  the  honors  of  war. 
Therefore,  when  February  crept  away  to  the 
north,  and  March  came  breezing  up  from  the 
south,  I  went  to  a  seed-shop  and  laid  in  an  entire 
new  supply  of  garden  ammunition. 

I  began  on  a  smaller  scale  than  before.  My 
ambition  had  not  forgotten  the  severe  lesson  of 
the  past  spring.  I  relinquished  the  idea  of  supply- 
ing our  table  with  vegetables,  and  concluded  to 
devote  myself  solely  to  the  department  of  the 
beautiful.     Instead  of  taking  the  whole  estate  for 


352  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

a  centre,  and  radiating  over  the  land  in  all  direc- 
tions, I  pre-empted  from  the  waste  of  corn  and 
potato-field  a  corner,  ill-suited,  indeed,  to  my 
desires  and  my  dreams,  but  better  suited,  I  was 
forced  to  admit,  to  my  inexperience. 

A  square  piece  of  ground,  of  moderate  size,  was 
the  basis  of  my  flower-bed.  The  circle  described  by 
the  drapery  of  a  fashionably-dressed  woman,  stand- 
ing in  the  centre,  would  be  scarcely  more  than 
contained  in  it.     But  does  not  "  Rare  Ben  "  say, 

''  In  small  proportions  we  just  beauties  see, 
And  in  small  measure  life  may  perfect  be  "  ? 

It  is  amazino;  to  note  the  interest  one  has  in  the 
weather  when  one  becomes  a  landed  proprietor. 
It  is  equally  amazing  to  note  the  coquetry  of  tlie 
weather  when  it  becomes  aware  of  that  fact. 
With  the  poets,  who  have  hitherto  kept  me  in 
Almanacs,  April  is  a  sunny,  showery  month  ;  May 
melts  into  music  and  warmth  ;  and  June  is  redo- 
lent of  roses.  But,  O  Messrs.  Poets,  you  have 
dealt  treacherously  with  me,  or  else  you  have 
studied  nature  from  Chaucer,  not  from  herself. 
What  did  April  do  for  me  this  year?  Blocked 
me  up  with  a  snow-storm.  What  did  May  do  ? 
Took  advantage  of  her  name,  entrapped  my  coal- 
stove  into  the  garret,  then  benumbed  my  fingers, 
and  turned  me  into  a  Nova-Scotian.  Nay,  Winter, 
lingering,  was  not  content  to  chill  the  lap  of  May, 
but  even  set  young  June  a-shivering.  The  fact  is. 
Spring  as  a  figure  of  speech,  and  the  prolific  mother 


MY  FLOWER-BED.  353 

of  figures  of  speech,  is  a  good  thing ;  but  Spring 
as  an  institution  ouo;ht  to  be  abohshed.  It  has 
GutHved  its  usefulness.  It  exists  only  in  tradition  ; 
and  that  tradition  is  productive  of  much  mischief. 
Our  idea  of  it,  derived  chiefly  from  Old  English 
ballads,  bloom  with  violets,  and  soft  airs,  and  gay, 
green  woods,  and  frisking  lambs,  and  golden- 
throated  birds.  In  pursuance  of  which  idea  we 
get  up  May  parties  on  May-day,  and  lay  aside 
our  flannels,  and  make  ourselves  miserable,  let 
alone  the  rheumatisms  and  neuralgias  and  con- 
sumptions whose  highway  we  make  straight. 
The  blue  skies,  the  greening  fields,  and  the  poets 
aforesaid,  conspire  to  draw  us  into  the  trap  of 
raw  east  wind  and  chill  vapor,  from  which  we 
return  with  a  stiff"  neck,  a  sore  throat,  and  settled 
melancholy.  All  this  would  be  obviated  if  there 
could  only  be  a  general  understanding  that  Winter 
in  this  latitude  lasts  till  the  Fourth  of  July,  and 
comes  out  in  spots  all  summer.  We  should  then 
know  what  to  depend  upon,  and  the  "fair,  mild 
days  "  would  be  so  many  extra  blessings  thrown 
in.  That  is,  the  rule  would  be  comfortable,  and 
the  exceptions  delicious ;  w^hereas  now,  the  rule 
is  indifferent,  and  the  exceptions  intolerable. 

Understand,  I  am  not  finding  fault  with  the 
weather,  but  with  our  nomenclature.  A  north- 
east snow-storm  is  a  splendid  thing  in  its  way  ; 
only  don't  let  us  pretend  it  is  a  shower  of  apple- 
blossoms,  and  act  accordingly. 


354  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

But  snowy  April  days  and  murky  May  mornings 
may  cultivate  the  divine  virtue  of  patience,  if 
nothing  else,  I  said  to  myself,  as  I  stood,  flower- 
seeds  in  hand,  awaiting  the  Spring.  It  came  at 
last,  or  something  which  a  vivid  imagination,  com- 
bined with  the  Almanac,  could  call  Spring,  and  I 
levelled  and  spaded  and  raked  and  squared  my 
flower-bed  that  was  to  be.  On  the  north  and 
south  I  bounded  it  with  a  line  of  currant-bushes ; 
on  the  east  and  west  with  rose-bushes.  At  least, 
that  is  what  they  were  given  to  me  for.  In 
my  heart  I  believed  they  were  mere  dry  sticks, 
but  I  stuck  them  into  the  ground,  nothing  waver- 
ing. Between  the  rose-sticks  I  set  out  pansy- 
roots,  and  between  the  currant- sticks  dahlias,  and 
whatever  is  the  plural  of  gladiolus.  Next  came 
the  question  of  internal  arrangement.  You  may 
let  a  forest  grow  wild.  Nature  will  group  her 
trees,  and  drape  herself  with  all  manner  of  creep- 
ing mosses,  and  trailing  berries,  and  sprightly 
undergrowth,  and  you  shall  find  nothing  amiss. 
But  snip  off  a  little  bit  of  nature,  and  the  case 
is  altered.  A  garden  that  you  can  put  in  your 
pocket  is  nothing  if  it  is  not  regular.  You  must 
have  a  design,  a  diagram.  I  thought  of  a  star. 
But  a  star  is  a  great  deal  easier  to  think  of  than 
it  is  to  make.  If  you  don't  believe  me,  I  should 
just  like  to  have  you  try  it.  I  have  a  vague  im- 
pression that,  if  I  could  have  got  hold  of  a  treatise 
on  geometry,  I  could   have    constructed   one   on 


MY  FLOWER-BED.  355 

scientific  principles,  and  without  much  trouble  ; 
but  I  don't  suppose  there  was  such  a  treatise  with- 
in twenty  miles  ;  so  I  had  to  bungle  with  sticks 
and  strings.  However,  the  result  was  an  obvious 
star.  To  be  sure,  the  rays  were  rather  "  peaked," 
and  not  exactly  equidistant  at  the  tips,  and  some- 
what skewy  at  the  centre  ;  but  it  was  a  very  good 
star  for  all  that.  At  least,  it  was  more  like  a  star 
than  like  anything  else.  Aut  aster  aut  nullus ! 
When  I  had  completed  that,  I  put  outside,  between 
the  five  rays,  two  gladiolus  roots,  a  pansy,  a 
circle  of  candy-tuft,  and  one  of  lily  of  the  valley* 
Then  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  wait.  That 
is  the  beauty  of  being  a  farmer.  A  little  pro- 
vision, a  few  days  of  hard  work,  and  the  sweet 
sunshine,  the  soft  rain,  the  silent  dews,  finish  the 
business.  You  do  not  have  to  hammer  away  day 
after  day  at  your  lapstone  or  your  sermon.  Na- 
ture herself  puts  a  shoulder  to  your  wheel,  and 
rolls  you  on  to  fortune. 

Or  would,  if  it  were  not  for  the  weeds  and 
chickens  and  bugs  and  worms,  that  choke  and 
peck  and  gnaw  her  gifts.  A  few  innocent  flower- 
seeds  will  make  a  remarkable  number  of  enemies ; 
and  it  is  surprising  to  see  how  much  faster  weeds 
grow  than  flowers.  I  wonder  what  the  result 
would  be  if  one  should  set  out  Roman  wormwood, 
and  tend  it  carefully.  Would  it  forget  it  was  a 
weed,  fancy  itself  a  flower,  and  become  shy  and 
sensitive  ?     As  it  is,  I  have  found  it  one  of  the 


356  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

most  enterprising  of  individuals.  Before  I  thought 
of  looking  for  one  of  my  roots  or  seeds,  up  came 
this  Italian  bitterness,  speedily  followed  by  the 
pig-plant,  close  on  whose  heels  tramped  the  smart- 
weed  ;  and  in  a  twinkling  appeared  witch-grass, 
and  sorrel,  and  a  mob  of  little  villanous  vines, 
sprawling  things,  which  had  never  been  plant- 
ed, and  never  came  to  anything,  and  had  no 
business  there,  and  only  gave  the  trouble  of  pull- 
ing them  up. 

But  one  warn!  night  something  happened.  The 
evening  had  given  no  sign ;  but  under  the  silent 
moon  a  host  of  tiny  warriors,  clad  in  Lincoln- 
green,  unsheathed  their  sharp  swords,  cleft  the 
brown  earth,  and  when  the  day  dawned  there 
they  were  marshalled  in  knightly  array,  along  the 
white  lines  of  my  star. 

I  know  few  sensations  more  exquisitely  satis- 
factory than  the  springing  up  of  something  which 
your  own  hands  have  planted.  You  have,  per- 
haps,—  if  you  are  a  neophyte,  —  had  a  lurking 
fear  lest  you  might  not  detect  the  difference  be- 
tween the  gold  and  the  gilt,  have  suffered  weeds 
to  flourish,  lest,  in  exterminating  them,  you  might 
ignorantly  exterminate  something  that  was  not  a 
weed ;  but  when  the  gold  comes,  you  recognize 
its  gleam.  A  flower  is  no  more  like  a  weed 
than  if  it  had  never  grown.  It  is  pale,  and  soft, 
and  juicy,  and  tender.  The  first  lifting  of  its 
little  face  above  ground  is  a  mute  appeal  to  your 


MY  FLOWER-BED.  357 

sympathy  and  protection.  It  would  seem  as  if  a 
harsh  look  might  crush  out  its  little  life.  But 
the  -vyeed  is  a  saucy,  reckless,  pushing,  defiant, 
strong-nerved  Yankee  fellow.  "  Here  I  am," 
he  says,  tossing  his  plumes  six  inches  in  the  air 
before  you  knew  he  was  "•  anywhere  round." 
"  Here  I  am.  You  did  n't  invite  me,  but  I 
came,  and  brought  all  my  brothers,  and  we  are 
going  to  have  a  rollicking  time  of  it.  You  can 
give  me  the  cut  direct.  O  yes.  But  I  am  not 
sensitive.  I  am  not  overladen  with  modesty. 
It  is  a  very  nice  place,  this  world,  with  its 
sun  and  dew  and  rain,  and  I  don't  intend  to 
be  driven  out  of  it  in  a  hurry." 

I  suppose  every  school-girl  and  school-boy  in 
New  England  has  compared  weeds  and  flowers 
to  the  vices  and  virtues  of  the  human  heart ; 
but  you  don't  take  in  the  full  force  of  the  illus- 
tration till  you  have  a  flower-bed  of  your  own, 
and  actually  see  the  thing  going  on  with  your 
own  eyes.  Then  you  make  the  illustration 
yourself,  and  it  seems  just  as  fresh  to  you  as 
if  nobody  had  ever  made  it  before.  This  living 
A.  M.  5865,  or  thereabouts,  is  very  damaging  to 
originality,  —  when  it  comes  to  writing.  Adam 
and  Seth  and  Noah  had  the  advantage  of  us 
there.  Yet  as  a  matter  of  living,  sun  and  sky, 
the  broad-bosomed  earth  and  the  "  many-sound- 
ing sea,"  are  newly  created  for  every  baby  born. 

When  the  world  was  young,   the  seed    spake 


358  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

vaguely  of  the  soul.  But  Paul,  standing  in  the 
newly-risen  light,  saw  what  his  fathers  could  not 
see,  and  in  unfolding  leaf-buds  "  learned  the 
language  of  another  world."  Ever  since,  the 
spring's  resurrection  is  a  revelation.  You  lay 
in  the  brown  soil  the  ugly,  shrivelled,  insensate 
seed,  but  under  that  unseemly  garb  the  soul 
of  the  plant  keeps  watch  and  ward.  Life  is 
there,  hidden  in  death.  When  the  fulness  of 
time  is  come,  life  shall  burst  its  cerements,  and 
mount  upward  to  its  fate,  which  is  sunshine 
and  greenness,  and  glowing  beauty,  and  matchless 
grace. 

So  this  mortal  puts  on  immortality. 

I  suppose  a  professional  gardener  might  laugh 
at  my  flowers.  In  fact,  people  do  laugh  at  them 
who  are  not  professional  gardeners,  —  for  that  mat- 
ter, who  are  no  gardeners  at  all,  any  more  than 
I  am.  They  think  I  don't  see  them,  but  I  do. 
They  think  that  I  think  a  nasturtion  is  some- 
thing very  smart,  and  grand,  and  recherchS.  I 
don't  think  anything  of  the  sort.  I  know  as 
well  as  they  that  it  is  a  very  common,  kitchen- 
gardeny  kind  of  a  flower.  So  are  poppies.  So 
are  mallows.  So  are  lady's-dehghts,  and  bache- 
lor's-buttons, and  pinks,  and  candy-tuft,  and 
asters,  and  coreopsis,  and  roses ;  but  what  of  that  ? 
Is  a  thing  less  beautiful  because  it  is  common  ? 
The  blue  sky  bends  over  the  evil  and  the  good. 
The  earth  unfolds  her  loveliness  to  the  just  and  to 


MY  FLOWER-BED.  359 

the  unjust.  No  title-deeds  can  convey  possession 
of  the  splendor  or  the  beauty  of  the  universe.  No 
landed  proprietor  can  fence  in  from  lowliest  eyes 
the  swell  of  the  hills,  or  the  scoop  of  the  valleys. 
No  gas  agent  can  turn  oflp  the  bland  breezes  from 
those  who  cannot  pay  monthly  bills  therefor.  No 
"  merchant  prince  "  can  adorn  his  garden  with  the 
grandeur  and  the  glory  of  the  sea ;  while  the  clod- 
hopper may  snatch  strength  from  its  sturdy  waves, 
be  rocked  on  its  heaving  bosom,  and  sink  to  rest 
with  its  surging  lullaby.  God  makes  his  most 
beautiful  things  most  common,  and  shall  we  baffle 
his  benevolence,  spurning  his  blessings  ?  A  nas- 
turtion  "  common,"  —  with  the  heart  of  a  thou- 
sand sunsets  shrined  in  its  kingly  cup,  or  the 
shadow  of  royal  robes  empurpling  its  "  wine-dark 
depths  "  !  Common  !  shall  I  see  less  beauty  in 
its  golden  gleam  because  that  gleam  has  flashed 
brightness  into  myriads  of  hearts  ?  Shall  it  not 
rather  have  an  added  value  ?  The  hard  hand  of 
labor,  the  wasted  hand  of  disease,  the  restless  hand 
of  poverty,  have  found  peace,  and  hope,  and  joy, 
in  training  these  happy  flowers  to  grasp  the  sun- 
shine, and  the  glad  gifts  of  the  dew.  I  see  on 
the  folds  of  their  scarlet  banners  the  message  of 
good-will  to  weary  souls.  Peering  into  those 
glowing  caverns,  the  radiant  eyes  of  little  chil- 
dren laugh  up  to  meet  my  own,  and  the  touch  of 
their  tender  stems  is  like  the  touch  of  groping 
baby-fingers.     Shine  on,  0  fairest  messengers  of 


360  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

Heaven,  and  show  to  all  waiting,  toiling,  disheart- 
ened, sorrowful  lives 

"  A  strange  and  mystic  story,  — 
How  moistened  earthly  dust  can  wear  celestial  glory." 

My  horticultural  cook-book  affirms  that  nastur- 
tions  make  a  toothsome  salad.  I  dare  say.  I 
should  like  to  see  the  individual,  however,  who 
should  venture  to  go  browsing  among  my  nastur- 
tions.  I  am  strongly  opposed  to  Judge  Lynch's 
code  of  laws,  but  I  think  I  should  give  that  per- 
son something  harder  to  swallow  than  the  worst 
salad  he  ever  saw. 

A  poppy  is  not  like  a  nasturtion,  but  it  has  a 
fringed,  downy  beauty  all  its  own.  A  mystical, 
crimson  languor  suffuses  the  encircling  air.  Vivid 
blood-red  plashes  stain  its  white  bloom.  Some- 
times, in  riotous  revelling,  it  hurls  back  the  arrows 
of  the  sun,  till  my  dazzled  eyes  can  hardly  endure 
the  brightness.  But  pale  or  purple,  it  is  enchanted 
ground.  Under  that  fretted  greenery,  the  poets 
lie  asleep.  Hence,  far  hence,  all  ye  profaner  ones  ! 
It  is  not  for  you  to  tread  the  courts  of  the  poppy- 
crowned  god. 

"  Amid  the  bowels  of  the  earth  full  steepe, 
And  low,  where  dawning  day  doth  never  peepe, 
His  dwelling  is;  there  Tethys  his  wet  bed 
Doth  ever  wash,  and  Cynthia  still  doth  steepe 
In  silver  deaw  his  ever-drouping  hed, 
And,  more,  to  luUe  him  in  his  slumber  soft, 
A  trickling  stream  from  high  rock  tumbling  downe, 
And  ever-drizzling  raine  upon  the  loft, 
Mixt  with  a  murmuring  winde,  much  like  the  sowne 
Of  swarming  bees,  did  cast  him  in  a  swoone. 


MY  FLOWER-BED.  361 

Carelesse  Quiet  lyes 

"Wrapt  in  eternal  silence  farre  from  enimyes." 

So  dream  the  poets.  But  common  people  must 
keep  wide  awake. 

When  my  nasturtlons  came,  they  came  with  a 
leap.  They  hardly  seemed  to  have  grown.  They 
lifted  their  broad,  shield-shaped  leaves,  one  morn- 
ing, and  looked  as  if  they  had  always  been  there. 
But  poppies  tread  delicately.  There  is  just  a  faint 
line  of  green,  shading  the  brown  soil.  For  several 
days  it  hardly  increases.  While  you  are  looking 
at  it,  you  persuade  yourself  that  nothing  will  come 
of  it,  —  there  is  nothing  there.  But  when  you 
are  away,  you  have  a  very  strong  impression  that 
something  was  there,  and  will  "  turn  up."  While 
you  are  waiting  further  developments,  the  "  heated 
^erm  "  comes,  —  dry,  dusty,  suffocating,  blinding, 
baking,  brazen  days,  —  when  the  sun  unmasks  his 
batteries,  and  opens  upon  you  a  steady  fire.  If 
you  want  to  know  how  your  flowers  feel  about  it, 
go  out  doors  barefoot,  and  the  grass  that  was  so 
tender,  and  cool,  and  dewy  in  the  morning,  is 
curled  and  crisp,  and  burns  your  feet.  (Neverthe- 
less, it  is  an  excellent  thing  to  go  barefoot.  Civil- 
ization is  shocked  at  the  mention  of  such  a  thing, 
but  Hygiene  rejoices.  Physicians  tell  us  that  one 
of  the  reasons  why  our  Irish  population  are  so 
healthy,  notwithstanding  their  untidy,  irregular 
habits,  is  that  they  go  barefoot  so  much.  Cer- 
tainly the  stout  frames  and  brawny  arms  of  Irish- 
16 


362"  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

women  are  an  argument  very  difficult  to  over- 
come ;  while,  in  point  of  comfort,  nothing  can  sur- 
pass untrammelled,  unhampered  feet.  It  stands 
to  reason.  Shoes  are  bad  heat-conductors.  They 
confine  and  accumulate  it ;  but  without  shoes  and 
stockings  it  passes  off  as  fast  as  it  is  generated, 
and  not  only  the  feet,  but  the  whole  body  pre- 
serves a  pleasant  equilibrium.  People  have  only 
to  lay  aside  their  prejudices,  and  their  shoes  and 
stockings  will  follow,  till  the  summer  custom  and 
costume  will  be  as  fashionable  as  Nahant.) 

Presently  the  parched  look  of  your  flower-bed 
excites  your  compassion.  You  water  it,  but  the 
water  runs  off  the  hardened  surface.  You  loosen 
the  soil  around,  and  it  is  a  little  better.  In  the 
height  of  the  drought  the  spout  of  the  water-pot 
generally  comes  off,  and  then  your  strong  plants 
are  drenched  with  torrents,  and  for  your  weak 
ones  you  take  a  colander,  which  is  not  "  handy." 
So  you  blunder  on,  day  after  day,  wishing  and 
watching  for  a  thunder-shower  or  a  tin-pedler. 
By  and  by  a  cloud  in  the  west  appears,  rises, 
spreads,  and  descends  in  beautiful  and  doubly  wel- 
come abundance.  The  dear,  benevolent  rain  !  the 
kindly,  saving  rain !  It  is  better  than  a  thousand 
watering-pots  with  the  spouts  all  on.  It  does  the 
business  so  easily  and  so  thoroughly.  You  hardly 
wonder  that 

"  Danae  in  a  golden  tower, 
Where  no  love  was,  loved  a  shower." 


MY  FLOWER-BED.  363 

You  are  in  love  with  it  yourself,  and  as  you  stand 
silent,  with  smiling  eyes,  a  silver  voice  begins  to 
well  murmurously  around  you;  but  just  here  the 
rumbling  of  wheels  breaks  in  upon  the  murmur- 
ous voice,  and  a  tin-pedler's  cart  heaves  in  sight, 
blossoming  with  watering-pots.  Of  course  you 
don't  buy  any,  but  it  is  "  trying "  to  see  them 
just  then.  After  this,  however,  you  are  in  no 
doubt  about  the  poppies.  They  leap  up  into 
rounded  vigor  and  obviousness,  and  the  whole 
garden  is  quickened. 

I  made  a  mistake  in  my  planting.  I  put  the 
seeds  in  too  •  close,  and  the  centre  of  my  star  is  a 
perfect  tangle.  The  nasturtions  had  the  advan- 
tage at  the  start,  and  they  keep  it;  but  they  are 
smothered  in  their  own  sweetness,  and  the  gilias 
and  geraniums  fairly  gasp  for  breath.  A  sly  little 
portulacca  hides  under  an  overgrown  marigold, 
and  cheated  me  for  a  long  while.  I  thought  sev- 
eral mornings  that  he  had  buds  on  the  brink  of 
opening,  and  sometimes  I  surely  thought  I  saw 
buds  that  had  opened  and  closed  again,  but  that 
was  all,  so  I  set  a  watch,  and  one  day,  just  at 
noon,  (when  I  never  visited  him,  and  he  thought 
himself  safe  from  intrusion,)  I  spied  a  flash  of 
Solferino,  rushed  upon  him,  and  caught  him  in 
the  very  act.  Since  then  he  has  hung  out  his 
colors  quite  openly.  My  rose  sticks  have  pros- 
pered beyond  measure.  I  counted  fourteen  buds 
on  one  of  them.  My  gladiolus  is  the  delight  of 
my  eyes, 


364  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

"  A  daughter  of  the  gods,  divinely  tall, 
And  most  divinely  fair." 

My  dahlias  came  up  headlong,  four  or  five  in  a 
group.  Somebody  said  I  must  break  off  all  but 
one.  I  rejected  the  Vandalism  with  horror.  I 
am  a  Republican  and  a  Christian,  and  I  would 
have  no  Turks  about  that  could  "  bear  no  brother 
near  the  throne."  It  shows  the  weakness  of 
moral  principle,  that  three  weeks  after,  when  I 
saw  a  bed  of  dahlias  twice  as  tall  as  mine,  I  came 
home  and  broke  mine  off  with  a  bleeding  heart. 
Then  they  shot  up,  and  a  high  wind  came  and 
twisted  and  prostrated  them  remorselessly.  Then 
I  hunted  up  stakes  and  poles,  worn-out  broom- 
sticks and  dislocated  hoe-handles,  and  tied  up  my 
dahlias,  till  my  flower-bed  might  have  been  taken 
for  a  returned  regiment  from  a  thirty  years'  war. 
Presently  one  of  them  "  made  an  effort,"  and  pi;t 
out  a  flower,  which  looked  like  an  agitated  turnip. 
I  never  saw  such  a  dismal,  washed-out  rag  in  my 
life.  I  do  not  think  much  of  dahlias.  They  are 
coarse  and  unsightly  in  leaf,  and  forlorn  in  flower, 
and  ten  to  one  don't  flower  at  all.  I  call  them 
nothing  more  than  an  aristocratic  potato.  Several 
of  my  most  beautiful  and  promising  plants  I  pulled 
up,  because  Halicarnassus  said  they  were  weeds. 
I  did  not  believe  it  then,  and  the  more  I  think  of 
it,  the  more  I  do  not  believe  it  still.  It  was  envy 
on  his  part,  not  weeds  on  mine.  Still  I  pulled 
them  up.     So  I  lost  the  cream  of  my  garden ;  but 


MY  FLOWER-BED.  365 

the   skim-milk   that  is   left   is   ravishingly  tooth- 
some. 

Dear  old  Earth,  "  tickle  her  with  a  hoe,  and  she 
laughs  with  a  harvest."     I  scarcely  so  much  as 
tickled  her.     I  did  but  lay  the  tip  of  an  unskilful 
finger  in  one  of  her  dimples,  and  she  broke  forth 
before  me  into  singing.     Dear  old  mother  of  us 
all,  what  you  were  before  Adam  I  cannot  con- 
ceive, for  with  the  burden  of  his  curse  upon  you, 
you  are  more  lovely  than  tongue  can  tell,  or 
pencil  portray,  and  in  your   bosom   lie 
hidden    treasures   of  strength,    and 
honor,  and  glory,  and  blessing 
for  him  who  is  wise  to  woo. 
The  earth  is   full  of 
the    riches    of 
the  Lord. 


Lights  among  the  Shadows  of 
OUR  Civil  War. 


IVIL  war  is  a  very  terrible  thing.  Be- 
cause it  is  terrible,  however,  it  is  not 
necessarily  unmitigated.  Even  civil 
war  may  have  its  sunny  side.  In  the 
lessons  which  it  teaches,  in  the  sophistry  which  it 
demolishes,  in  the  manhood  which  it  develops,  we 
may  find  wherewithal  to  stay  our  souls,  when  they 
are  ready  to  faint  with  the  burden  and  heat  of  this 
our  bloody  day. 

And  first,  what  has  become  of  the  people  who 
were  always  talking  about  the  bravery,  and  virtue, 
and  hardihood,  and  patriotism  of  our  forefathers, 
in  sad  contrast  with  the  pusillanimity,  effeminacy, 
and  selfishness  of  us  their  descendants  ?  You  have 
doubtless  heard  persons,  in  and  out  of  the  news- 
papers, linger  regretfully  over  the  olden  devotion 
to  country,  sacrifice  for  a  righteous  cause,  perse- 
verance under  difficulties,  undaunted  bravery  in 
battle,  and  unshaken  fortitude  in  defeat.  They 
would  speak  with  reproachful  admiration  of  the 


OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  367 

mothers  wlio  beat  their  pewter  spoons  into  bullets, 
and  sent  their  sons  to  battle ;  and  then  would 
come  a  sigh  over  these  degenerate  days,  when 
men  think  of  nothing  but  to  buy  and  sell,  and 
get  gain.  I  must  say  that  I,  for  one,  never  did 
believe  one  word  of  it.  I  think  we  are  just  as 
good  as  our  fathers,  and  always  have  been  ;  but 
you  cannot  expect  martial  virtues  in  a  time  of 
peace,  any  more  than  you  can  expect  the  triumphs 
of  peace  in  time  of  war.  I  always  believed  that, 
if  we  ever  had  an  opportunity,  we  should  show 
ourselves  just  as  brave,  just  as  loyal,  just  as 
self-sacrificing,  as  our  fathers.  Did  they  fight  in 
a  holier  cause  than  we  ?  Did  they  exercise  a 
greater  forbearance  than  we,  so  long  as  forbear- 
ance seemed  of  any  avail ;  and  when  forbearance 
would  have  been  weakness,  did  they  spring  to 
arms  with  greater  alacrity  ?  Were  they  more 
prodigal  of  men  and  money  ?  Have  we  not 
brought  forward  our  precious  things,  laying  upon 
the  altar  even  our  prejudices,  and  preferences,  and 
opinions  ?  Did  our  fathers  fight  for  liberty  ?  So 
do  we.  Was  their  struggle  less  for  themselves 
than  for  the  future  ?  So  is  ours.  We  should 
have  got  along  very  comfortably,  letting  things  go 
on  as  they  have  been  going  on.  That  we  might 
leave  to  the  future  a  righteous  legacy,  that  we 
might  maintain  in  its  integrity  a  righteous  cause, 
we  have  sacrificed,  not  only  without  a  murmur, 
but  with  a  spontaneous  and  irresistible  enthusiasm, 


368  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

our  lives,  our  fortunes,  and  our  sacred  honor,  — 
lives  just  as  dear,  honor  just  as  sensitive,  and 
fortunes  ten  times  as  large  as  those  of  our  fathers. 
The  "  Spirit  of  '76 "  was  noble  ;  but  its  noble- 
ness is  rivalled  and  its  power  excelled  by  the 
Spirit  of  '61.  The  blood  of  our  fathers  does  not 
run  thin,  and  pale,  and  sordid  in  our  veins.  The 
canker  of  peace  has  not  taken  out  our  life.  Let 
us  have  done  forever  with  this  exaltation  of  the 
past  by  the  depreciation  of  the  present.  The 
world  is  richer  now  in  all  the  elements  of  great- 
ness than  it  ever  was  before,  and  this  is  the 
Golden  Age. 

Another  compensation  is  the  love  of  country 
springing  up  in  every  Northern  heart.  It  is  to 
many  of  us  a  new  revelation.  Love  is  always 
creative.  When  a  man  begins  to  love  a  woman, 
a  new  world  unfolds  itself  to  him  in  this.  With 
every  baby  born,  the  mother  is  herself  new-born. 
When  the  soul  awakens  first  to  the  love  of  Christ, 
old  things  pass  away  and  all  things  become  new. 
We  have  been  living  quietly  under  our  vines  and 
fig-trees.  We  have,  as  the  mood  took  us,  boasted 
of  our  government,  or  rebuked  its  administrators ; 
but,  excepting  those  who  have  been  abroad,  we 
never  had  much  feeling  about  it  one  way  or  the 
other.  We  have  been  protected  by  it.  We  have 
known  it  only  by  its  constant  benefactions,  to 
which  we  were  born,  among  which  we  were  nur- 
tured, and  of  which  we  were  scarcely  more  con- 


OUR   CIVIL    WAR.  369 

scious  than  of  the  air  we  breathed.  It  is  not  that 
we  were  especially  ungrateful.  We  did  not  love, 
because  there  was  nothing  in  particular  to  love. 
The  President  is  too  short-lived  to  create  a  strong 
attachment.  Yesterday  he  was  nobody,  and  to- 
morrow he  will  relapse  into  nobody.  The  Senate 
and  House  are  not  peculiarly  adapted  to  call  forth 
emotions  of  tenderness,  nor  can  one  in  ordinary 
times  wax  wildly  enthusiastic  over  a  piece  of 
bunting.  We  have  no  royal  family  to  define, 
concentrate,  and  vivify  our  loyalty,  so  it  had  to 
go  wandering  for  an  object,  or  lie  sleeping  in  the 
bottom  of  our  hearts ;  but  the  besom  of  war  has 
swept  away  all  difficulties.  We  want  no  princely 
blood  now.  A  new  love  is  born,  strong,  vigorous, 
full  grown  in  a  day.  I  don't  know  that  we  could 
tell  precisely  what  it  is  that  we  love  now,  but  it 
is  something  !  The  love  is  there.  It  swells  and 
surges  in  our  hearts,  it  overflows  our  eyes.  It 
quivers  on  every  lip.  It  melts  down  all  barriers 
of  sect,  and  race,  and  religion,  and  politics.  It 
throbs  wherever  a  banner  floats.  It  thrills  out  in 
brave,  tender  words,  in  manly  deeds,  in  public 
generosities  and  private  heroisms.  Selfishness 
and  worldliness  shrivel  and  scorch  in  its  white 
heat,  and  the  hearts  of  the  nation  are  welded 
together  as  the  heart  of  one  man.  We  are,  as 
we  never  were  before,  a  united  North.  Sectional 
animosities,  local  hatreds,  petty  rivalries,  are  swal- 
lowed up  in  the  deep  sea  of  universal  brotherhood, 

16*  X 


370  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

whose  boundless  extent  is  only  made  more  impos- 
ing by  the  few  traitors  who  are  scudding  under 
bare  poles  over  its  heaving  bosom. 

There  is  another  benefit  which  we  would  not 
inaugurate  civil  war  to  procure,  but  in  which, 
since  civil  war  has,  unsought,  reared  his  horrid 
front  among  us,  we  will  rejoice  and  be  glad. 
We  shall,  for  a  little  while  at  least,  be  spared  our 
Fourth  of  July  literature  and  oratory.  A  certain 
map  of  the  United  States,  probably  in  possession 
of  a  good  many  of  my  readers,  is  adorned  along 
its  borders  with  various  pictures,  one  of  which  is 
labelled,  "  An  American  showing  to  the  Sover- 
eigns of  Europe  the  Progress  of  his  Country." 
The  American  stands,  with  one  foot  on  a  bale  of 
goods,  pointing  to  the  steamers,  and  railroads,  and 
schoolhouses,  and  churches  which  mark  the  land- 
scape. Louis  Philippe,  Victoria,  Nicholas,  and  a 
mob  of  kings  and  queens,  with  their  crowns  on, 
crowd  around  him,  mouths  agape,  eyes  staring,  in 
the  most  intense  and  unroyal  astonishment  and 
admiration.  In  England  the  picture  might  be 
relished  as  a  clever  caricature,  but  it  comes  too 
near  the  simple  truth  for  home  consumption.  It 
is  evidently  sketched  in  perfect  good  faith,  and  is 
the  expression  of  a  widely  prevalent,  not  to  say 
universal  feeling.  We  have  thought,  and  have 
not  always  exercised  the  modesty  which  good  taste 
would  have  suggested  in  saying,  that 

"  We  are  the  greatest  nation 
In  all  creation." 


OUR   CIVIL  WAR.  371 

No  more  of  this  for  the  present.  We  will, 
indeed,  congratulate  each  other  in  a  quiet  way, 
among  "  own  folks,"  (as  I  have  just  been  doing,) 
on  our  many  virtues  and  large  capabilities,  but  we 
will  let  our  spread  eagle  go  into  winter  quarters. 
We  will  cease  for  a  while  to  ring  changes  on  our 
"unexampled  prosperity,"  our  "commerce  whiten- 
ing every  sea  with  its  sails,"  our  ingenuity  filling 
the  world  with  its  products,  our  cities  springing 
up  in  the  wilderness,  our  great  and  glorious  Re- 
public, laying  hold  of  the  Atlantic  with  one  hand 
and  the  Pacific  with  the  other,  crowning  her  head 
with  the  snows  of  the  Northern  mountains  and 
dipping  her  feet  in  the  waters  of  the  Southern 
seas.  We  have  had  a  sudden  check  in  our  career. 
A  strong  man  armed  is  at  the  door.  He  of  our 
own  blood  which  did  eat  of  our  bread  has  lifted  up 
his  heel  against  us.  A  brother  has  struck  at  his 
brother,  —  nay,  worse  than  this,  a  man  has  done 
treason  to  his  mother.  The  children  whom  she 
has  nourished  and  brought  up  tenderly  have  re- 
belled against  her,  and  striven  to  cut  down  her 
streno-th.  Shame  and  confusion  of  face  belono-s  to 
us  all,  —  that  our  soil  should  have  nourished,  our 
skies  spanned,  and  our  airs  sustained  a  treachery 
so  base.  We  are  in  a  death-grapple  with  our 
own,  and  a  most  glorious  victory,  as  surely  as  the 
most  disastrous  defeat,  bears  in  its  bosom  the  seeds 
of  a  profound  sorrow. 

Again,  the   cost   of  war   is   undoubtedly  very 


372  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

great.  It  takes  a  good  deal  of  money  to  begin 
with,  and  a  good  deal  more  to  carry  it  on,  and  not 
a  little  to  repair  damages  after  it  is  over.  We 
must  contract  an  immense  debt,  but  our  children 
must  look  to  it.  It  will  be  their  business  as  well 
as  ours.  The  vices,  the  virtues,  and  the  debts  of 
the  fathers  are  visited  upon  the  children.  The 
head  of  Louis  the  Sixteenth  paid  for  the  vices  and 
extravagances  and  ambitions  of  the  Grand  Mon- 
arch. This  seems  an  ungracious  consolation,  but 
it  is  not.  Our  children  have  the  best  of  the  bar- 
gain at  that.  We  take  the  laboring  oar.  The 
price  is  the  price  of  liberty,  not  of  slavery.  If 
we  dance  for  them  the  dance  of  death,  they  may 
consider  themselves  well  off  if  they  only  have  to 
pay  the  piper.  But  what  is  this  debt  ?  Where 
does  our  government  get  the  money  which  it  bor- 
rows ?  It  is  loaned  by  our  moneyed  institutions, 
our  banks,  our  citizens.  And  who  are  the  gov- 
ernment ?  Citizens  likewise.  The  people  are  the 
sovereigns.  Through  their  servants,  chosen  from 
and  by  themselves,  they  borrow  of  themselves 
twenty  or  a  hundred  millions  of  dollars,  and  there 
is  a  great  debt ;  but  the  money  is  owned  as  well 
as  owed  by  themselves.  In  their  capacity  as  gov- 
ernment, they  owe  money  to  themselves  as  people, 
—  which  is,  to  say  the  least,  a  rather  Pickwickian 
kind  of  debt. 

Moreover,  a  debt  may  be  the  measure  of  credit. 
If  a  man  owes  a  thousand  dollars,  it  shows  that 


OUR   CIVIL    WAR.  373 

his  property  is  valued  at  that  sum.  The  fabulous 
millions  of  the  national  debt  of  England  is  the 
lowest  sum  at  which  her  pecuniary  value  to  the 
people  of  England  can  be  rated.  This  strong, 
pecuniary,  direct  interest  which  the  people  of 
England  have  in  the  perpetuity  of  their  govern- 
ment, is  one  of  the  bulwarks  of  her  Constitution. 
It  helps  to  keep  her  throne  steady  when  the  Con- 
tinental thrones  are  tottering.  Her  debt  is  her 
life  insurance.  The  moment  her  government  is 
destroyed,  the  debt  is  wiped  out,  and  the  people, 
her  creditors,  are  bankrupt.  So  Louis  Napoleon, 
wise  in  his  generation,  issues  his  coupons,  and,  by 
making  the  people  the  creditors  of  his  dynasty, 
makes  them  at  the  same  time  its  firmest  sup- 
porters. 

And  what  becomes  of  the  money  borroAved  by 
the  government  ?  It ,  levies  and  maintains  and 
transports  armies,  and  provides  the  munitions  of 
war.  That  is,  it  goes  to  the  farmers,  and  butch- 
ers, and  bakers,  and  grocers,  and  tailors,  and 
shipbuilders,  and  gun-makers,  —  straight  into  the 
pockets  of  the  people,  just  where  it  came  from. 
It  is  not  sunk  in  the  ocean  or  burned  in  the  fire, 
as  a  general  thing.  It  is  still  in  circulation,  which 
is  the  only  thing  money  is  good  for. 

And  how  is  this  debt  to  be  paid,  or  upheld? 
By  taxation. 

Our  people  have  generally  been  opposed  to 
direct  taxation,  both  politically  and  socially.     If 


374  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

we  want  a  Sunday-school  library,  instead  of  tak- 
ing the  money  and  buying  it  out  and  out,  we  get 
up  a  fair.  That  is,  we  put  ourselves  to  a  world 
of  trouble  to  make  a  wilderness  of  knick-knacks, 
that  we  don't  want,  and  nobody  else  wants,  and 
then  we  pay  twenty-five  or  fifty  cents  for  the 
supreme  satisfaction  of  going  to  look  at  them,  and 
three  or  four  dollars  more  for  the  pleasure  of  lit- 
tering our  houses  with  them,  and  then  we  are 
ready  to  buy  our  library,  —  at  five  times  the  cost, 
and  five  thousand  times  the  trouble,  that  it  would 
have  been  had  each  one  quietly  handed  in  his 
share  of  money  in  the  first  place.  But  each  one 
won't  quietly  hand  in  his  share,  —  he  won't  hand 
it  in  at  all,  and  so  you  must  have  a  fair,  or  go 
without.  You  may  demonstrate  twenty  times 
over  that  one  course  of  action  is  better  than  an- 
other to  accomplish  a  certain  end,  but  so  long  as 
people  will  not  adopt  the  one,  and  will  adopt  the 
other,  what  are  you  going  to  do  ? 

In  respect  of  taxation,  the  case  is  somewhat 
similar.  We  pay  duties  on  silk,  and  tea,  and 
wine,  and  so,  ordinarily,  make  shift  to  support  the 
government  without  finding  it  out.  But  now  the 
times  are  becoming  extraordinary,  the  newspapers 
are  discussing  taxation,  the  bankers  shut  up  their 
vaults  demanding  taxation,  financiers  announce 
the  imperative  necessity  of  taxation  ;  now,  there- 
fore, let  us  have  done  with  this  child's  play.  So 
long  as  a  question  of  finance  is  but  a  question  of 


OUR    CIVIL   WAR.  375 

here  or  there,  we  msij  prestidigitate  it  harmlessly 
enough,  making  the  burden  disappear  under  any 
pleasant  name  we  choose,  or  even  turning  it  into 
a  profit  as  featly  as  Mr.  Hermann  disposes  of  his 
pocket-handkerchiefs,  or  makes  a  gold  dollar  out 
of  a  walnut ;  but  when  it  is  a  question  of  here  or 
nowhere,  it  is  time  to  demand  new  measures  and 
new  men.  Is  it  supposed  that  this  people  is  an 
infant,  to  be  frightened  by  a  bugbear  ?  Are  we 
a  nation  of  pagans,  to  fall  down  before  a  molten 
image  ?  Do  we  shrine  our  gold  and  silver  in 
the  Holy  of  holies,  with  a  "  These  be  thy  gods, 
O  Israel "  ?  True,  a  forced  taxation,  a  taxation 
levied  by  alien  publicans  and  sinners,  an  arbitrary, 
unjust,  and  unrighteous  taxation,  we  refused  to 
submit  to  eighty  years  ago,  and  we  have  never 
repented  of  it  since  ;  but  a  tax  self-imposed,  im- 
posed to  insure  the  triumph  of  a  cause  in  which 
all  our  religion,  all  our  loyalty,  all  our  honor, 
everything  that  is  dear  and  sacred  in  life,  nay, 
even  life  itself,  is  concerned,  should  be  hailed,  and 
shall  be  hailed,  with  acclamation. 

It  is  true  there  are  not  wanting  those  who  will 
bemoan  their  heavy  taxes,  who  seem  already  to 
see  their  golden  eagles  putting  forth  the  wings 
which  they  are  to  take  to  themselves,  in  order 
to  fly  away  ;  but  surely  they  are  in  a  frightful 
minority,  and  if  they  are  not,  they  ought  to  be. 
What  in  the  world  is  money  good  for,  if  not 
for  just  such  a  crisis  as  this  ?     It  brings  comfort 


376  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

and  luxury,  and,  to  a  certain  extent,  position  and 
power ;  but  what  are  all  these  to  a  man  whose 
only  child,  the  heir  of  his  house  and  heart,  lies 
mangled  and  dying  on  his  own  door-stone  ?  All 
that  he  prizes  his  money  for,  then,  is  the  prompt 
and  efficient  aid  it  may  bring  to  the  suffering  boy. 
Does  he  clench  his  hands  and  knit  his  brow,  and 
mourn  over  the  expense  which  the  surgeon's  visit 
will  bring,  and  lament  that  the  best  mattress  in 
the  house  will  be  thoroughly  spoiled,  and  wonder 
if  molasses  and  water  won't  do  instead  of  French 
brandy  ?  Yet  this  is  what  we  should  do  to  groan 
over  taxes.  Taxes  I  Every  dollar  that  goes  to 
put  down  the  rebellion  is  stamped  with  the  image 
and  superscription  of  the  Lord.  Surely,  surely, 
never  was  money  so  honored,  so  glorified,  —  so 
sanctified  !  A  handful  of  gold-dust,  a  scrap  of 
rag-paper,  moistened  with  our  tears,  hallowed  by 
our  prayers,  may  help  to  usher  in  the  millennial 
year  I  Shall  we  grumble  ?  Shall  we  not  rather 
lay  our  hand  on  our  mouth,  and  our  mouth  in  the 
dust,  and  cry,  "  Will  God  in  very  deed  conde- 
scend to  accept  so  poor  a  gift  ?  "  Behold  heaven 
and  the  heaven  of  heavens  cannot  contain  Him. 
All  the  beasts  of  the  forests  are  his,  and  the  cattle 
upon  a  thousand  hills,  —  nay,  the  earth  and  they 
that  dwell  therein  ;  yet  he  is  willing  to  associate 
us  with  himself.  As  the  father  suffers  the  tiny 
fingers  of  his  son  to  grasp  the  basket,  that  his  little 
heart  may  please  itself  by  fancying  that  he  helps 


OUR   CIVIL  WAR.  377 

carr]?  it,  and  to  learn  early  the  luxury  of  doing 
good,  so  God,  who  spake,  and  the  work  of  creation 
was  done,  who  commanded,  and  the  heavens,  and 
the  earth,  and  all  the  host  of  them  stood  fast,  per- 
mits us  to  have  part  in  the  great  work  of  the 
world's  redemption.  And  we  are  to  draw  back, 
are  we  ?  We  will  clutch  a  little  longer  this  gold, 
which  of  itself  is  as  worthless  as  the  stones  of  the 
street,  —  which  depends  for  its  value  solely  upon 
what  it  can  do  for  us  !  We  shall  make  a  poor  in- 
vestment. We  can,  if  we  will,  convert  our  money 
into  stocks,  and  bonds,  and  mortgages,  and  houses, 
and  carpets,  and  pictures,  and  laces,  and  plate,  and 
jewels,  and  we  shall  receive  such  consideration  as 
these  will  bring  —  when  they  are  bought  at  the 
price  of  manhood  ;  and  then  we  shall  die,  and  they 
will  all  fall  off  from  us,  and  we  shall  go,  naked 
souls,  into  the  next  world,  and  who  knoweth  what 
shall  be  after  us  under  the  sun  ?  Or,  on  the  other 
hand,  we  can  turn  our  money  into  loyalty,  and 
trust,  and  truth,  and  righteousness,  and  self-sacri- 
fice, and  magnanimity,  and  devotion  to  a  just 
cause,  succor  to  the  oppressed,  strength  to  the 
weak,  a  cup  of  cold  water  to  Christ's  little  ones, 
and  so  our  money  becomes  for  ever  and  ever  a 
part  of  ourselves,  and  the  best  and  noblest  part, 
from  which  neither  death,  nor  life,  nor  angels,  nor 
principalities,  nor  powers,  nor  things  present,  nor 
things  to  come,  nor  height,  nor  depth,  nor  any 
other  creature,  shall  be  able  to  separate  us.     O, 


378  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

blessed  are  the  rich  in  these  days,  who  can  bring 
all  the  firstlings  of  their  flock  for  a  sin-offering,  and 
blessed  are  the  poor  also,  for  a  pair  of  turtle- 
doves and  two  young  pigeons  may  be  brought  for- 
ward unto  the  Lord,  —  nay,  even  the  tenth  part  of 
an  ephah  of  fine  flour  shall  be  an  acceptable  sacri- 
fice. Do  we  know  that  such  an  opportunity  will 
ever  again  be  offered  us  to  speed  our  wealth  or 
our  poverty  on  an  errand  so  grand  ?  Let  us  not 
sink  below  the  height  of  the  hour. 

And  there  is  another  advantage  which,  at  such 
a  juncture  as  this,  taxation  has  above  any  and 
every  other  method  of  raising  a  revenue.  They 
are  round-about.  This  is  direct.  The  disadvan- 
tage of  a  fair  compared  with  a  contribution-box 
is,  that  in  the  first  you  get  something  which  is 
reckoned  an  equivalent  for  your  money,  —  only  a 
flimsy  toy,  perhaps,  but  enough  to  conduct  away 
all  the  pleasure  which  the  downright  giving  of 
your  money  would  have  afforded  you.  You  have 
neither  the  satisfaction  which  arises  from  a  "  good 
bargain,"  nor  the  glow  which  springs  from  the 
gratification  of  a  benevolent  desire.  So,  even  if 
we  could  put  down  the  rebellion  by  increasing 
our  imports,  and  by  other  expedients  of  that  na- 
ture, we  should  miss  half  the  pleasure.  We  should 
not  be  giving  money  to  our  country,  we  should 
only  be  paying  high  prices  for  tea  and  sugar. 
But  with  direct  taxation,  there  would  be  no  go- 
between  to  rob  us  of  all  our  benevolences  by  way 


OUR   CIVIL    WAR.  879 

of  commission.  We  should  stand  face  to  face 
with  the  object  of  our  solicitude  and  our  love. 
Our  hearts  would  be  warmed  with  the  conscious- 
ness of  actual  contact.  We  should  take  joyfully 
the  spoiling  of  our  goods,  knowing  that  we  were 
laying  up  treasure  in  heaven  and  on  earth  for  our- 
selves and  for  the  generations  that  are  to  come. 

If  there  are  any  with  whom  these  considerations 
have  no  weight,  they  may  perhaps  be  influenced 
by  another.  When  the  nation  shall  give  its  voice 
in  favor  of  taxation,  there  is  no  appeal.  You 
will  have  to  pay  "  whether  or  no."  It  is  only 
whether  you  will  do  it  jubilantly,  reckoning  your 
cross  a  crown,  counting  it  all  joy  to  spend  and  be 
spent  in  so  glorious  a  service,  and  so  receive  back 
full  measure,  pressed  down,  shaken  together,  and 
running  over ;  or  whether  you  will  hold  back, 
have  your  will  throttled,  your  pride  humbled,  your 
purse  taken  by  storm,  and  get  nothing  for  it  after 
all. 

It  remains  now  for  the  people  to  choose  what 
they  will  do.  We  can  rise  up  against  taxation, 
save  our  money,  and  lose  the  day,  lose  the  age, 
lose  God's  grand  "  occasion  floating  by,"  but  what 
shall  be  the  profit  of  such  a  gain  ? 

"  Gained  —  the  infamy  of  fame, 
Gained  —  a  dastard's  deathless  name, 
Gained  —  eternity  of  shame. 

"  Lost —  desert  of  manly  worth, 
Lost  —  the  right  we  had  by  birth. 
Lost  —  lost — freedom  for  the  earth." 


380  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

And  it  may  be  that  such  a  withholding  will 
tend  to  the  very  poverty  that  we  dread,  the  only 
poverty  which  our  ignoble  souls  can  feel.  "  Wis- 
dom for  a  man's  self,"  says  Bacon,  "  is,  in  many 
branches  thereof,  a  depraved  thing.  But  that 
which  is  specially  to  be  noted  is,  that  those  which 
are  lovers  of  themselves  without  a  rival  are  many 
times  unfortunate  ;  and  whereas  they  have  all  their 
time  sacrificed  to  themselves,  they  become  in  the 
end  themselves  sacrificed  to  the  inconstancy  of  for- 
tune, whose  wrings  they  thought  by  their  self-wis- 
dom to  have  pinioned." 

God  forbid  that  any  of  us  should,  standing,  as 
we  soon  shall  stand,  on  the  outer  shore  of  the 
world,  and  looking  back  over  the  land  w^hich  was 
before  us  a  land  of  golden  promise,  see  it  lying 
behind  us  a  land  of  bitterness  and  desolation,  —  or 
hear  rino-ina:  in  our  ears  a  voice  whose  tones  would 
find  its  echo  in  our  own  hearts :  "  Mene,  Mene, 
Tekel,  Upharsin ;  God  hath  numbered  thy  king- 
dom, and  finished  it.  Thou  art  weighed  in  the 
balance,  and  art  found  wanting." 

I  see  but  one  reasonable  objection  to  taxation. 
"  We  are  willing,"  it  may  be  said,  "  to  pour  out 
of  our  abundance,  or  of  our  poverty,  to  put  down 
the  rebellion  ;  but  we  are  not  willing  even  to  dole 
out  our  hard  earnings  to  enrich  dishonest  contrac- 
tors, lazy  clerks,  grasping  sutlers,  wasteful  Con- 
gress-men, and  the  whole  herd  of  unclean  beasts 
who  feed  and  fatten  at  the  public  crib."     Bu^,  in 


OUR    CIVIL   WAR.  381 

the  first  place,  if  we  are  going  to  wait  for  purity 
before  we  provide  power,  we  may  as  well  give 
up  the  whole  matter  at  once.  To  suppose  that 
tjie  affairs  of  this  nation  are  to  be  carried  on  ex- 
clusively by  disinterested  patriots,  is  to  obey  Dog- 
berry's injunction.  We  may  lament  the  fact,  but 
it  must  be  recognized  as  a  fact,  and  as  a  fact  dis- 
posed of,  that  the  world's  work  is,  to  a  remarkable 
extent,  done  with  unwashen  hands.  It  would  be 
a  happy  day  for  us  that  should  see  every  man  in 
our  government  a  Washington,  but  that  day  will 
not  dawn  this  many  a  year,  and  meanwhile  we 
must  do  the  best  we  can  with  our  present  material. 
Wheresoever  the  carcass  is,  there  will  the  eagles 
be  gathered  together.  Wherever  there  is  a  possi- 
bility of  making  money  without  work,  or  wherever 
salary  is  disproportioned  to  service,  there  the  mor- 
ally lame  and  the  mentally  lazy  will  inevitably 
congregate.  Wherever  a  business  is  so  vast  that 
it  must  be  managed  by  large  masses  of  men,  with 
the  certainty  of  ample  remuneration,  with  the  con- 
tingency of  perquisites,  and  a  presumption  of  im- 
punity for  unfaithfulness  arising  from  the  very 
magnitude  of  the  work  and  the  numbers  of  the 
workmen,  there,  until  the  Millennium,  the  great 
unemployed,  the  unlucky,  the  indolent,  the  shabby- 
genteel,  the  unpractical  and  the  impracticable, 
Micawberian  waiters  for  something  to  turn  up, 
lounging  heirs  for  whom  the  dead  men's  shoes  are 
not  yet  emptied,  and  unjust  stewards  who  cannot 


382  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

dig,  and  are  ashamed  to  beg,  but  not  afraid  to 
steal,  will  come  up  like  a  young  lion  from  the 
swellings  of  Jordan,  with  a  paw  for  every  contract, 
and  a  claw  for  every  clerkship,  and  a  maw  for 
every  salary  that  can  be  wrenched  or  wormed 
from  the  powers  that  be.  Even  with  the  best 
intentions  on  the  part  of  those  with  whom  rests  the 
responsibility  of  selection,  some  ring-streaked  and 
spotted  souls  will  smuggle  in  and  usurp  the  places 
that  should  be  filled  only  by  those  who  walk  in 
white.  Some  dishonest  and  unscrupulous  men 
will  rankle  there,  —  men  who  will  feather  their 
own  nests,  though  they  pluck  their  country  callow 
to  effect  it ;  —  harpies  that  pollute  what  they  can- 
not devour, —  gulping  down  the  very  shew-bread 
from  off  the  altar,  —  thrusting  their  three-pronged 
flesh-hooks  even  into  the  caldrons  of  sacrifice, 
and  bringing  thereby  shame  and  dismay  upon  the 
whole  priesthood. 

But  let  it  not  be  forgotten  that  this  is  not  a 
feature  peculiar  to  our  government.  Such  men 
there  are  in  all  countries,  a  disgrace  to  their  age 
and  to  the  race.  Probably  our  ratio  of  rascal- 
age  is  not  larger  than  that  of  any  other  nation. 
Probably  it  is  smaller  than  most.  This  is  surely 
consolatory. 

Then,  also,  it  is  evident  that,  after  all,  it  is  com- 
paratively a  small  part  of  our  whole  expenditure 
that  is  thus  wasted,  thouo-h  it  be  laro;e  in  the 
aggregate  ;  and  in  the  working  of  all  machinery, 
allowance  must  be  made  for  friction. 


OUR    CIVIL    WAR.  383 

Thus  much,  supposing  the  evil  to  be  irremedia- 
ble ;  but  it  is  not.  There  is  no  need  of  all  this 
venality.  The  fact  of  its  past  existence  furnishes 
no  argument  for  its  present  toleration,  and  if  the 
imminence  of  taxation  shall  rouse  us  to  overthrow . 
it,  taxation  will  be  no  disguised  blessing.  It  is 
the  duty  of  every  man  to  file  a  complaint,  and  to 
follow  it  up.  Let  him  insist  that  taxation  and 
purification  and  retrenchment  go  hand  in  hand. 
When  the  burden  of  taxation  falls,  let  the  burden 
of  corruption  be  lifted,  and  all  burden  will  disap- 
pear. To  which  end,  let  every  man  take  hold  of 
the  lever  that  is  nearest  to  himself.  If  each  one 
would  turn  on  the  water  of  cleansing  to  his  own 
corner  of  this  Augean  stable,  the  work  would  soon 
be  done  ;  and  then,  and  meanwhile,  let  him  keep 
a  sharp  lookout  —  careful,  but  not  captious,  watch- 
ful, not  meddlesome  —  that  the  republic  receive 
no  harm  at  the  hands  of  those  servants  whom  his 
voice  and  vote  helped  to  set  in  place.  Tocqueville 
sagaciously  says,  that  a  government  will  be  just 
as  corrupt  as  the  nation  will  let  it  be  ;  and  if  the 
virtuous  sit  quietly  at  home,  and  do  nothing  to 
preserve  or  reinstate  public  purity,  they  are  un- 
faithful to  their  duty,  and  have  no  right  to  cast 
the  first  Stone. 

As  for  retrenchment,  there  are  a  thousand  ways 
in  which  something  can  be  accomplished,  and 
much  will  be  accomplished  if  we  all  put  our  shoul- 
ders  to  the  wheel.     Congress  is  showing  a  faint 


384  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

disposition  to  walk  in  the  right  path,  and  the 
disposition  should  by  all  means  be  encouraged 
and  strengthened.  The  franking  system  exhibits 
symptoms  of  rapid  demise,  and  there  are  many 
other  systems  there  that  will  bear  looking  into, 
or  rather  that  will  not  bear  it,  and  should  die  the 
death.  The  office  hours  of  the  clerks  of  the  de- 
partments are,  I  think,  from  nine  A.  M.  to  three 
P.  M.,  and  it  is  a  current  saying  among  them, 
that  it  is  nine  till  it  is  ten,  and  three  as  soon  as 
it  becomes  two ;  and  if  the  public  work  can  be 
done  with  such  application,  or  want  of  application, 
surely  it  can  be  done  by  fewer  clerks,  who  should 
render  exact  service  ;  and  the  lowest  salaries  are 
$  1,200  per  annum.  The  salaries  of  our  higher 
officers  are  not  munificent  compared  with  the  in- 
come of  the  chief  magistrates  of  other  nations. 
The  President  is  perhaps  the  worst-paid  man  in 
the  country,  but  no  salary  can  be  any  offset  to  the 
discharge  of  duties  so  onerous,  and  though  I  do 
not  think  "  we  the  people  "  have  the  shadow  of 
a  right  to  ask  for  its  reduction,  yet,  in  this  crisis, 
it  seems  to  me  that  the  moral  effect  of  a  voluntary 
surrender  of  a  part  of  it  would  be  so  happy,  that 
it  would  amply  compensate  for  any  self-denial  that 
might  be  involved.  (I  trust,  however,  that  Mr. 
Lincoln  will  not  feel  constrained  by  my  suggestion. 
I  certainly  shall  not  press  it  to  his  embarrassment.) 
But  what  we  want  is  that  President,  Congress,  and 
people  shall  give  a  long  pull,  a  strong  pull,  and  a 


OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  385 

pull  altogether,  to  get  the  nation  out  of  the  mire. 
Money,  muscle,  and  mind  are  what  we  need.  The 
muscle  is  on  hand,  the  mind  and  money  are  in  the 
country,  and  must  be  produced.  Money  we  can 
all,  or  almost  all,  save  and  spare  ;  for  nearly  all 
of  us  live  a  great  way  above  our  necessities.  I 
do  not  advocate  penuriousness.  I  believe  in  fine 
houses,  fine  estates,  fine  horses,  and  fine  clothes. 
I  believe  it  is  everybody's  duty  to  live  as  elegantly 
as  he  can,  consistently  with  his  other  duties.  I  do 
not  believe  that  the  God  who  made  everything 
beautiful  in  its  season,  who  painted  the  wing  of 
the  butterfly,  and  burnished  the  scales  of  the  beetle, 
and  tinted  the  petals  of  the  rose,  and  pencilled  the 
outlines  of  the  hills,  who  ordered  his  temple  to  be 
made  of  the  purest  gold,  the  most  precious  wood, 
the  most  costly  scarlet,  —  who  everywhere  delights 
to  lavish  magnificence,  —  I  cannot  believe  that  this 
Being  is  most  appropriately  worshipped  by  an  un- 
couth and  homespun  life.  But  there  is  a  beauty 
higher  than  speaks  to  the  eye,  and  beautiful  things 
are  beautiful  only  as  they  converge  to  this  higher 
beauty.  There  is  nothing  more  stately  than  the 
human  body,  and  he  who  disfigures  it  by  abuse 
or  neglect,  is  guilty  of  sin  ;  but  more  beautiful 
than  Apollo  is  the  soldier,  lying  face  forward  on 
the  battle-field,  grimed  with  powder,  torn  with 
shell,  smeared  with  blood,  —  since  for  a  sacred 
cause  he  dared  to  die.  So  w^e  may  not  only  inno- 
cently, but  laudably,  adorn  our  houses  with  the 

17  T 


386  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

treasures  of  art  and  the  wonders  of  skill,  surround- 
ing ourselves  with  whatever  speaks  to  the  eye  or 
the  ear  of  loveliness  and  grace ;  but  when,  in  or- 
der to  do  this,  we  sacrifice  the  soul  to  which  they 
all  minister,  we  rob  God.  We  misuse  his  bounty. 
We  utterly  mistake  the  meaning  of  his  gifts. 
They  have  failed  to  do  their  work  for  us.  Instead 
of  drawing  us  up  higher,  they  have  thrust  us 
down  lower.  We  are  sensual,  when  we  ought  to 
be  spiritual.  We  value  means  more  than  ends. 
We  take  the  hints  and  signs  of  beauty  for  beauty 
itself.  We  put  the  incidents  of  life  for  its  essence. 
And  what  shall  it  profit  us  though  we  gain  the 
whole  world  and  lose  our  inward  worth  ?  When, 
on  the  other  hand,  we  sacrifice  these  adventitious 
graces  and  glories  that  the  soul  which  they  grace 
and  glorify  may  live,  —  that  virtue  and  truth  and 
justice  may  not  want  a  man  to  stand  before  the 
Lord  forever,  —  we  show  a  just  sense  of  the  rela- 
tive value  of  things,  and  approve  ourselves  worthy 
to  be  the  depositary  of  liberty  for  the  world. 

So  it  irks  me  to  hear  such  assertions  as  that  a 
member  of  Congress,  or  any  other  man,  cannot 
Hve  in  Washington,  or  any  other  city,  on  less 
than  three  thousand  dollars  a  year.  Cannot  live  ? 
Have  we  not  classical  authority  for  saying  that 
men  can  not  only  live,  but  cultivate  the  muses,  on 
a  little  oatmeal  ?  In  land  where  corn  is  ten  cents 
a  bushel,  and  coal  fifteen,  is  it  to  be  said  that  a 
man  must  die  of  cold  or  hunger  unless  he  has 


OUR  CIVIL   WAR.  387 

three  thousand  dollars  a  year  ?  It  is  absurd.  He 
may  not  be  able  to  give  French  dinners  and  cham- 
pagne suppers,  and  japonica  parties,  and  to  main- 
tain a  style  of  corresponding  expenditure  ;  but  let 
him  diminish  his  expenses.  Let  him  put  a  knife 
to  his  throat  if  he  be  a  man  given  to  such  appe- 
tites. When  his  country  is  struggling  for  life,  is 
it  any  discredit  to  him  to  live  narrowly  for  her 
sake  ?  Is  it  not  rather  a  credit  ?  Does  he  not 
thereby  give  a  pledge  of  his  sincerity  and  his  love  ? 
What  was  generous  living  becomes  heartless  ex- 
travao;ance.  What  would  be  meanness  is  heroism. 
Was  Washington  ashamed  to  exhibit  before  the 
minister  of  the  great  and  gay  French  court  "  that 
plain  and  simple  manner  of  living  which  accords 
with  the  real  interest  and  policy  of  men  struggling 
under  every  difficulty  for  the  attainment  of  the 
most  inestimable  blessing  of  life,  liberty  "  ?  Did 
Luzerne,  dining  off  the  shoulder  of  bacon,  the 
almost  imperceptible  greens,  and  the  contingent 
apple-pie,  conceive  a  low  idea  of  the  cause  whose 
champion  could  thus,  for  its  sake,  deny  himself  the 
luxuries  which  fortune  had  laid  at  his  feet  ?  And 
if,  when  the  public  good  demands  a  reduction  of 
any  salary,  its  recipient  profess  himself  unable  to 
live  on  less,  let  him  consider  whether  his  life  is 
absolutely  essential  to  the  nation. 

"  I  trust  we  have  within  our  realms 
Five  hundred  as  good  as  hee." 

Of  course,  retrenchment  should  be  accomplished 


388  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

"wisely  and  justly,  not  injudiciously  and  indiscrimi- 
nately. There  is  that  withholdeth  more  than  is 
meet,  but  it  tendeth  to  poverty.  Let  the  people 
insist  that  abuses  shall  be  abolished,  mistakes  rec- 
tified, extravagance  discouraged,  dishonesty  pun- 
ished. Let  them  be  scrupulously  honorable  and 
careful  and  economical  in  all  their  private  meas- 
ures, effectually  frowning  down  whosoever,  in  pub- 
lic or  private,  loveth  and  maketh  a  lie,  and  then 
welcome  taxation !  welcome  self-denial !  welcome 
poverty,  and  hardship,  and  suffering,  and  death, 
if,  peradventure,  the  Lord  will  establish  upon  us 
the  work  of  our  hands. 

Civil  war  cannot  be  so  fatal  to  a  nation  as  many 
have  painted  it.  Cruel  and  bloody,  indeed,  must 
be  the  fight  when  brothers  fall  to  blows  ;  but  Eng- 
land has  thriven  on  such  warfare.  Her  soil  has 
been  drenched  again  and  again  with  the  blood  of 
her  children.  More  than  thirty  years  the  white  roses 
met  the  red  in  deadly  conflict.  It  was  eighteen 
years  from  the  battle  of  Edgehill  to  the  coronation 
of  Charles  the  Second,  and  to-day,  in  all  the  arts 
of  peace  and  war,  England  stands  foremost  among 
the  nations.  When  mad  clouds  clash  in  the  sum- 
mer sky,  there  is  fierce  strife,  —  the  flash  of  death- 
dealing  lightnings  and  the  terrific  cannonade  of 
the  thunder,  —  but  the  earth  looks  up  all  the 
fresher,  the  air  sweeps  round  it  all  the  clearer 
afterwards.  So  we  will  hope  that  the  storm  shall 
be  as  a  savor  of  life  unto  life.     The  bolts  must 


OUR  CIVIL   WAR.  389 

fall,  yet  our  moral  atmosphere  shall  be  purged 
of  its  miasms,  and  our  beloved  land  bloom  with 
a  yet  unknown  freshness,  in  the  light  of  the  Sun 
of  Righteousness. 

"  Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  and  on  earth 
peace,  good- will  toward  men,"  sang  the  host  of 
heaven  pouring  through  the  pearly  gates  of  the 
Celestial  City,  and  floating  over  the  hill -tops  of 
Judaea  to  proclaim  to  a  ransomed  earth  the  glad 
tidings  of  her  redemption,  —  the  birth  of  the  Son 
of  God. 

But  when  the  fulness  of  time  had  come,  and 
the  child  that  was  born  in  the  city  of  David  had 
grown  into  his  manhood,  and  great  multitudes  fol- 
lowed him,  what  words  fell  on  the  listening  ears 
of  his  disciples,  whom  he  was  commissioning  to  go 
to  the  lost  sheep  of  the  house  of  Israel  ?  "  Think 
not  that  I  am  come  to  send  peace  on  earth ;  I 
came  not  to  send  peace,  but  a  sword." 

Was  then  the  song  of  the  angels  but  a  song  of 
sirens,  or  did  the  Saviour  Christ  repent  or  de- 
spair of  his  Divine  mission,  and  in  anger  resolve 
to  cut  down  the  rebellious  people  whose  hearts 
were  unsoftened  to  his  love  ?  Not  so.  James,  a 
servant  of  God,  and  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
has  bridged  the  chasm,  and  in  one  short  sentence 
showed  us  how  the  stern  declaration  of  Christ  con- 
sorts with  the  resounding  jubilance  of  the  heavenly 
hosts  :   "  First  pure,  then  peaceable." 

So  the  clash  and  clangor  of  arms  that  suddenly 


390  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

cleft  the  usual  din  of  our  busy  streets,  and  rent  the 
silences  of  our  remote  hills,  and  ruffled  the  quiet- 
ness of  our  Puritan  Sabbath,  was  the  Gospel  — 
the  good  spell,  the  good  story  —  of  peace,  rendered 
in  a  different,  harsher,  but  not  less  emphatic  lan- 
guage than  that  used  by  the  angels.  The  sword 
cuts,  through  the  dense  forest  and  the  tangled 
undergrowth,  a  highway  for  the  Prince  of  Peace  ; 
the  "  feverish  lips  "  of  cannon  thunder  out  the 
preparation  for  the  Gospel  of  peace,  and  mighty 
men  of  war  herald  the  millennial  year. 

Never  has  our  country  seen  a.  more  glorious 
day  than  that  which  dawned  but  now,  blood- 
red  in  the  east,  but  radiant  with  white  brilliance 
in  the  high  noon  which  surely  follows.  It  is  the 
day  which  the  Lord  hath  made ;  we  will  rejoice 
and  be  glad  in  it.  It  is  the  day  which  prophets 
and  kings  desired  to  see,  but  have  not  seen.  It  is 
a  day  so  pregnant  with  grand  possibilities,  that  it 
were  better  for  a  man  that  a  millstone  were 
hanged  about  his  neck,  and  that  he  were  drowned 
in  the  depths  of  the  sea,  than  that  he  should,  by 
an  ill-timed  forbearance,  or  a  culpable  negligence, 
or  an  unmanly  timidity,  or  a  criminal  love  of 
peace,  turn  back  its  near-approaching  chariot, 
and  veil  it  again  in  the  shades  of  a  once-dis- 
pelled night.  Thrice  and  four  times  accursed 
shall  he  be  who  cries  peace  when  there  is  no 
peace !  We  feared,  as  we  entered  into  the  cloud, 
but  we  have  heard  a  voice  from  out  the  cloud, 


OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  391 

saying,  "  This  is  my  beloved  Son,"  and  though 
we  can  see  those  divine  hneaments  but  darkly, 
we  fear  no  longer.  The  cup  which  our  Father 
has  given  us,  shall  we  not  drink  of  it?  There 
may  be  bitter  drops,  but  we  know  that  love  has 
mingled  it,  and  life  lies  in  the  draught. 

Many  a  lover  of  his  country  has  sought  to  allay 
the  fierce  excitement  and  prevent  its  culmination  in 
blows,  not  for  his  own  sake,  not  for  his  country's 
sake  alone,  but  for  the  sake  of  the  world  ;  some 
with  the  blush  of  shame,  some  with  the  tear  of 
pity,  some  with  the  sigh  of  regret.  "  What  will 
the  world  say  ?  "  has  been  often  asked,  and  oftener 
thought.  What  will  the  despotisms  say,  to  whom 
we  have  been  hitherto  a  reproach  and  a  terror  ? 
Where  shall  the  struggling  peoples  look  when  the 
star  that  has  shone  upon  them  for  a  hope  and  a 
guide  goes  out  in  darkness  ?  But  take  courage. 
The  star  has  not  yet  gone  out  in  darkness,  and 
has  no  thought  of  going.  Those  who  sorrow, 
and  those  who  exult  over  our  downfall,  are  alike 
premature,  for  we  are  not  down  yet  by  a  great 
deal.  On  the  contrary,  we  have  been  gradually, 
but  continually,  coming  up  higher,  advancing,  with 
many  retrograde  steps  'it  is  true,  but  with  steady, 
average  progress,  to  an  elevation  whence,  looking 
down  on  the  smiling  valleys  that  lie  behind,  and 
the  grim  abysses  that  yawn  before,  we  can  yet, 
for  the  right's  sake,  with  blanched  cheek  it  may 
be,  but  with  unfaltering  step,  "  march  right  on, 


392  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

content  and  bold."     We  could  not  always  have 
done  it.     Not  every  people  can  do  it  now. 

As  for  the  world,  it  cannot  judge  us.  It  is  not 
in  a  position  to  judge  us.  It  has  had  no  precedent. 
England,  which  knows  more  about  us  than  any 
other  nation,  —  which  has  become  famiharized 
by  constant  intercourse  and  a  common  language, 
and  endeared  by  similar  aims,  family  quarrels, 
and  the  strong  tie  of  blood,  —  even  England 
cannot  form  a  clear  and  accurate  conception  of 
our  position.  It  is  the  most  difficult  thing  in 
the  world  for  her  to  gain  a  tolerable  knowledge 
of  our  geography,  much  less  of  our  poUtical  and 
social  institutions,  their  bearings  and  necessities. 
When  intelligent  EngKsh  travellers  go  home  and 
write  books  about  America,  in  which  they  put 
Boston  and  Georgia  side  by  side  in  the  same 
class,  either  as  both  cities  or  both  States,  how 
can  the  rank  and  file  of  civilization  be  thought 
capable  of  judging  what  the  reefs  are  on  which 
we  have  struck?  It  is  undoubtedly  true  that 
a  very  large  majority  of  those  who  are  watching 
the  progress  of  our  struggle  from  abroad,  watch 
it  as  the  trial  of  Republicanism.  If  we  go  down, 
many  brave  hearts  panting  for  freedom  will 
throb  heavily,  and  wicked  eyes,  watching  over 
tyrannies,  will  gloat  on  our  destruction  ;  but  it 
is  not  Republicanism,  not  even  our  Republican- 
ism, that  is  on  trial  for  life,  as  people  will  pres- 
ently  learn.      If  the    nation    should    die    to-day, 


OUR   CIVIL    WAR.  393 

(but  it  will  not,)  our  experience  of  self-govern- 
ment, so  far  from  being  a  failure,  would  be  a 
signal  success.  It  lias  given  us  near  a  century 
of  freedom  and  happiness.  Under  it  we  have 
grown  from  a  little  one  to  be  a  great  nation. 
It  has  been  to  us  a  blessing,  and  only  a  blessing. 
It  has  not  only  ministered  to  our  material  pros- 
perity, but  it  has  educated  our  people  to  a  de- 
gree of  self-respect  and  self-control,  which,  low 
as  it  seems  at  times  and  in  places,  disagreeable 
as  it  often  is  in  its  manifestations,  is  yet,  in 
both  quantity  and  quality,  unparalleled  among 
the  nations.  What  other  community  would  have 
held  itself  on  the  brink  of  civil  war  as  we  did? 
Two  forces,  —  one  drawing  itself  up  in  battle- 
array,  the  other  quietly  pursuing  the  avocations 
of  peace,  —  one  dishonestly  appropriating  to  it- 
self for  hostile  purposes  the  vast  wealth  which 
belongs  to  both,  the  other  half  unconscious,  and 
half  apathetic  when  conscious,  and,  even  when 
aroused,  contenting  itself  with  remonstrance,  and 
held  in  check,  through  its  loyalty  to  law,  by 
a  power  which  it  despised,  —  day  after  day, 
week  after  week,  month  after  month,  stood  face 
to  face  and  held  their  peace.  It  would  seem  as 
if  a  rash  act,  a  palpable  blunder,  an  innocent 
mistake,  might  at  any  moment  hurl  them  into  a 
bloody  embrace ;  rash  acts,  blunders,  and  mis- 
takes there  were  in  lamentable  profusion ;  feel- 
ing ran  high  ;  hearts  swelled  with  indignation ; 
17* 


394  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

each  felt  that  the  other  was  trampling  on  his 
dearest  rights,  (at  any  rate  each  said  so,  and  we 
know  that  we  spoke  truly,)  and  we  flamed  up  to 
a  white  heat  of  passion  ;  but  there  was  no  out- 
break. And  shall  it  be  said  of  such  men  that 
they  are  not  fit  to  govern  themselves  ?  They 
have  governed  themselves,  and,  by  their  cool- 
ness and  patience  and  wisdom,  have  shown  that 
they  were  eminently  fit  to  govern  themselves. 
If  the  Republic  falls,  nevermore  to  rise,  let  no 
despot's  hand  point  to  the  place  where  it  stood, 
as  a  warning  to  future  republics.  Nothing  in 
its  life  will  have  become  it  like  the  leaving  it. 
No  circumstance  of  its  life  hitherto  can  so 
strongly  prove  the  inherent  strength  and  dig- 
nity, not  of  man  simply,  but  of  men,  as  this 
present  struggle,  even  if  it  should  be  unto 
death.  The  long  forbearance  of  the  people  that 
would  not  believe  in  treason  and  matricide  ;  the 
simultaneous  and  spontaneous  uprising  of  a  people 
when  treason  and  matricide  spoke  out  in  words 
that  could  no  longer  be  misunderstood ;  the  sud- 
den tempest  of  love  and  courage  and  sacred  fury 
that  swept  through  a  people  when  it  saw  the  ark 
of  its  liberties  endangered,  —  all  this  shall  go 
down  to  the  future,  and  men  shall  rejoice  and 
tyrants  shall  tremble  at  the  memory  of  our  Re- 
public, even  should  it  be  only  a  memory. 

No,    the    struojo;le  which  convulses    the   nation 
does  not  arise  from  evils  which  inhere  in  its  sys- 


OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  395 

tern  of  government,  and  develop  naturally  from  its 
workings.  Our  Republic  is  attacked  from  with- 
out, not  from  within.  The  rank  vine  which 
twines  its  tightening  coils  around  her  sturdy 
trunk  and  lusty  limbs  is  no  parasite,  but  a  foul 
foreign  growth.  It  has  indeed  struck  its  roots 
into  the  same  soil,  and  spread  out  its  tendrils  to 
the  same  breezes,  but  the  one  is  a  vile  and  short- 
lived weed,  and  the  other  a  tree  of  life,  whose 
leaves  are  for  the  healing  of  the  nations.  The 
contest  arises  rather  from  the  purity  and  power  of 
Kepublicanism.  A  form  of  government  less  an- 
tagonistic to  human  bondage  might  longer  hold 
on  the  even  tenor  of  its  way,  but  Republicanism 
is  so  founded  on  the  dignity  of  man,  the  rights  of 
man,  the  sacredness  of  man,  that  it  cannot  exist 
even  with  a  vestige  of  despotism.  It  must  have 
free  course  to  run  and  be  glorified,  or  it  must  stop 
running  altogether.  We  have  an  anomalous  civ- 
ilization. On  the  one  side  freedom  in  its  purest 
form,  on  the  other,  slavery  in  its  purest ;  and  the 
genius  of  the  one  is  so  diverse  from  that  of  the 
other,  that  the  two  cannot  coexist.  All  the  forces 
of  the  one  spring  upward  to  light  and  air.  All 
the  forces  of  the  other  drag  downward  to  dark- 
ness and  death.  It  was  the  inconsistencies  be- 
tween their  own  struoigle  for  their  ricrhts  and  a 
refusal  to  grant  the  same  rights  to  their  Negroes, 
that  led  our  fathers  to  banish  slavery  from  New 
England.     But  slavery,  banished  from  New  Eng- 


396  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

land,  throve  in  a  sunnier  clime,  side  by  side  with 
the  freedom  of  the  austere  North.  Now  the  har- 
vest is  ripe.  Let  the  mowers  whet  their  scythes, 
and  the  reapers  put  in  their  sickles,  for  one  or  the 
other  shall  surely  fall.  Multitudes,  multitudes  in 
the  valley  of  decision.  For  the  day  of  the  Lord 
is  near  in  the  valley  of  decision. 

Is  this  a  day  for  a  man  to  afflict  his  soul?  to 
bow  down  his  head  as  a  bulrush,  and  to  spread 
sackcloth  and  ashes  under  him  ? 


Though  "  it  was  but  a  dream,  yet  it  lightened  my  despair 

When  I  thought  that  a  war  would  arise  in  defence  of  the  right, 

That  an  iron  tyranny  now  should  bend  or  cease, 

The  glory  of  manhood  stand  on  his  ancient  height, 

Nor  America's  one  sole  god  be  the  millionnaire. 

No  more  shall  commerce  be  all  in  all,  and  Peace 

Pipe  on  her  pastoral  hillock  a  languid  note. 

"  And  as  months  ran  on  and  rumor  of  battle  grew, 
*  It  is  time,  it  is  time,  0  passionate  heart,'  said  I, 
(For  I  cleaved  to  a  cause  that  I  felt  to  be  pure  and  true,) 

It  is  time,  it  is  time ! T  wake  to  the  higher  aims 

Of  a  land  that  has  lost  for  a  little  her  lust  of  gold, 

And  love  of  a  peace  that  was  full  of  wrongs  and  shames, 

Horrible,  hateful,  monstrous,  not  to  be  told ; 

And  hail  once  more  to  the  banner  of  battle  unrolled ! 

Though  many  a  light  shall  darken,  and  many  shall  weep 

For  those  that  are  crushed  in  the  clash  of  jarring  claims, 

Yet  God's  just  wrath  shall  be  wreaked  on  a  giant  liar; 

And  many  a  darkness  into  the  light  shall  leap, 

And  shine  in  the  sudden  making  of  splendid  names. 

And  noble  thought  be  freer  under  the  sun, 

And  the  heart  of  a  people  beat  with  one  desire ; 

For  the  peace  that  I  deemed  no  peace  is  over  and  done. 

By  the  deathful-grinning  mouths  of  the  fortress  flames 

The  blood-red  blossom  of  war  with  a  heart  of  fire. 


OUR    CIVIL   WAR.  397 

"  Let  it  flame  or  fade,  and  the  war  roll  down  like  a  wind, 
We  have  proved  we  have  hearts  in  a  cause,  we  are  noble  still, 
And  myself  have  awaked,  as  it  seems,  to  the  better  mind; 
It  is  better  to  fight  for  the  good,  than  to  rail  at  the  ill ; 
I  have  felt  with  my  native  land,  I  am  one  with  my  kind, 
I  embrace  the  purpose  of  God,  and  the  doom  assigned." 

In  summing  up  the  pros  and  cons  of  this  war, 
the  deterioration  of  the  men  who  are  engaged  in 
it,  and  the  general  backsHding  of  society,  are  usu- 
ally set  down  on  the  per  contra  side.  It  is  taken 
for  granted  that  morality  and  religion  will  suffer, 
both  with  those  who  go  and  with  those  who  stay. 
And  liaving  thus  put  matters  in  train,  and  given 
everybody  to  understand  what  is  expected  of 
him,  and  that  if  he  sins  it  won't  be  very  much  his 
fault,  seeing  it  is  the  prescribed  thing  to  do  under 
the  circumstances,  it  is  very  likely  soldiers  and 
society  will  answer  our  expectations,  and  duly  de- 
teriorate according  to  the  statute  for  such  case 
made  and  provided. 

It  seems  to  me,  however,  that  all  this  is  entirely 
unnecessary.  I  see  no  conclusive  reason  why  our 
men  should  come  back  to  us  any  worse  men  than 
they  went  away,  or  why  they  should  find  us  any 
worse  men  than  they  left  us.  It  seems  to  me,  on 
the  contrary,  that  this  is  the  time  of  all  times 
when  we  should  expect,  and  lay  our  plans  for,  and 
strive  to  bring  about,  a  great  revival  of  religion,  — 
such  a  revival  as  we  have  never  yet  felt  or  heard 
of,  so  that  even  a  whole  nation  shall  be  born  into 
the  kingdom  of  heaven  in  a  day. 


398  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

It  does  not  prove  anything  to  the  purpose,  that 
wars  always  have  been  attended  with  and  fol- 
lowed by  demoralization.  It  is  a  long  lane  that 
has  no  turning.  America  is  not  a  land  of  prece- 
dents. She  is  herself  an  unprecedented  nation. 
She  has  never  scrupled  to  turn  over  a  leaf  because 
it  was  new,  and  there  is  no  reason  why  she  should 
now.  If  wars  always  have  been  demoralizing,  it  is 
high  time  they  should  stop  being  so,  and  there 
never  was  a  better  occasion  to  change  this  thing 
than  the  present.  There  is  nothing  in  the  origin 
or  aim  of  this  war  to  demoralize  any  one.  No- 
body has  to  slur  over  his  convictions,  that  his 
patriotism  may  go  scot-free.  Nobody  is  required 
to  forget  his  conscience  in  his  country.  Nobody 
is  forced  to  merge  his  Christianity  in  his  citizen- 
ship. Conscience  and  patriotism,  right  and  might, 
all  march  under  the  same  banner,  and  fight  on  the 
same  side.  It  is  such  a  war,  as  has,  perhaps, 
never  been  seen  outside  of  "  Paradise  Lost."  It 
is  a  rebellion  of  wicked  weakness  against  righteous 
strength.  It  is  slavery,  ignorance,  cruelty,  barba- 
rism, writhing  under  the  iron  tramp,  and  striking 
its  fangs  into  the  mailed  heel,  of  freedom,  knowl- 
edge, and  universal  human  progress.  Every  man 
and  boy  who  goes  down  to  battle  can  go  in  the 
name  of  the  Lord.  It  is  no  personal  animosity, 
no  sectional  jealousy,  no  party  pique,  that  should 
whet  the  sword,  and  clean  the  rifle,  and  nerve  the 
arm.     A  great  cause  is  endangered,  a  great  princi- 


OUR    CIVIL   WAR.  399 

pie  is  attacked.     The  heart  of  humanity  is  struck 
at,  the  battle  is  for  the  world. 

And  who  are  they  that  go  down  to  the  battle  ? 
Not,  as  a  general  thing,  beardless  boys,  with  habits 
and  principles  yet  in  the  gristle  ;  not  the  off-scour- 
ing of  society  mainly,  though  that  undoubtedly 
drizzles  in  to  a  considerable  extent ;  but  men  with 
mothers  and  wives  and  children  at  home,  —  men 
who  have  been  educated  in  our  free  schools,  who 
have  worshipped  God  in  our  sanctuaries,  who  have 
voted  in  our  town-houses,  and  taken  newspapers, 
and  paid  taxes,  and  tilled  farms,  and  built  engines, 
and  talked  politics,  and  heard  lectures,  and  given 
parties.  They  are  men  who  have  had  their  posi- 
tion and  reputation  in  society  and  church ;  and 
because  they  have  left  mother,  and  child,  and 
church,  and  shop,  are  they  to  begin  forthwith  to 
swear,  and  drink,  and  turn  vagabond,  robber,  and 
roue  f  Is  this  the  strength  of  our  boasted  free 
institutions  ?  Have  we  been  trained  to  a  morality 
that  must  be  laid  aside  with  the  civilian's  dress, 
and  is  vice  the  prerogative  of  regimentals  ?  Is  our 
religion  a  two-year-old  child,  to  fly  at  the  sight  of 
a  uniform  ?  Is  our  virtue  so  weak  that  it  must  be 
bandaged,  and  bolstered,  and  coddled  with  herb- 
tea  and  water-gruel,  to  keep  the  breath  of  life  in  it, 
and  the  moment  it  is  let  out  into  the  rough-and- 
tumble  of  the  world,  it  droops  and  dies?  Then, 
verily,  we  may  as  well  have  no  virtue  at  all,  and 
we  have  made  much  ado  about  nothing.     It  has 


400  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

always  been  our  boast  and  pride  that  we  raised 
men.  It  seems  now  that  we  have  turned  out 
nothing  but  overgrown  boys.  Liberty,  education, 
self-control,  individual  responsibihty,  are  the  birth- 
right of  American  freemen,  and  the  upshot  of  it 
is,  that  when  they  are  put  to  the  test  they  cannot 
stand  it !  Thrown  upon  their  manhood  for  three 
months,  or  three  years,  they  have  not  sail  enough 
to  keep  going,  nor  ballast  enough  to  keep  steady ! 
Then  let  our  free  institutions  go  by  the  board.  If, 
after  near  a  century  of  working,  they  can  show  no 
better  result  than  this,  away  with  them.  Despot- 
ism could  hardly  do  worse.  Let  the  war  go,  too. 
Let  Davis  come,  and"  Floyd,  and  slavery,  and 
stealing,  and  the  age  of  pewter  and  pinchbeck 
and  all  uncleanness.  A  few  rods  more  or  less 
deep  in  the  slough  of  infamy  will  not  make  much 
difference.  Let  us  write  on  the  door-posts  of  our 
churches  and  our  school-houses,  "  Mene,  Mene, 
Tekel,  Upharsin,"  and  then  lock  the  doors,  and 
board  up  the  windows,  and  begin  new. 

It  is  not  so.  I  do  not  believe  one  word  of  it. 
The  eighty  years'  trial  has  not  proved  such  an 
abortion.  The  mountain  has  not  labored  to  bring 
forth  such  a  mouse.  I  would  not  so  slander  our 
institutions  and  the  brave  men  who  have  gone  forth 
to  defend  them.  Our  soldiers  are  not  mere  ma- 
chines, working  according  to  the  hands  of  the  con- 
ductor, though  they  are  that ;  they  are  not  misera- 
ble conscripts,  drafted  and  dragged  into  a  quarrel 


OUR   CIVIL    WAR.  401 

of  which  they  have  no  knowledge,  and  in  which 
they  have  no  interest ;  they  are  no  vain  and  empty 
braggarts,  clutching  after  a  vague,  glittering,  worth- 
less glory.  They  are  men,  and  soldiers  because 
they  are  men.  They  are  soldiers  of  their  own  free 
will  and  choice,  —  soldiers  of  opinion  and  senti- 
ment and  settled  purpose.  They  are  fighting  be- 
cause they  have  decided  that  it  is  right  to  fight. 
They  understand  what  they  are  fighting  for,  and 
what  they  are  fighting  against,  and  when  they  are 
going  to  stop.  For  a  specific  purpose,  for  a  limited 
time,  and  the  better  to  gain  their  objects,  they  have 
wisely  and  freely  delegated  the  partial  control  of 
their  movements  to  certain  leaders  ;  but  they  are, 
every  man  of  them,  a  sovereign,  wrestling  for  a 
kingdom  which  is  his  by  divine  right,  and  which 
usurpers  are  trying  to  wrest  from  him  by  infernal 
wrong.  He  is  fighting  for  his  children,  and  his 
children's  children,  to  the  third  ^nd  fourth  gener- 
ations. He  stands  in  the  van  of  a  vast  nation. 
Behind  him  is  a  great  multitude,  whom  no  man 
can  number,  —  men  and  women  and  little  children, 
with  eager  eyes  fixed  steadily  on  him,  —  silent  souls 
of  the  coming  ages,  awaiting  from  his  hands  their 
doom,  —  home,  hope,  happiness,  all  that  makes  life 
desirable  and  heaven  possible ;  —  above  him,  the 
heavenly  hosts  bending  over  the  battlements  of 
the  Celestial  City,  and  hell  from  beneath  moved 
to  meet  him  at  his  coming.  Is  this  a  day  for  a 
man  to  relax  his  hold  on  truth  and  righteousness  ? 


402  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

Is  this  a  situation  that  should  tempt  men  to  sloth 
and  wickedness  and  riot  ?  Are  these  the  men  that 
shall  be  found  wanting  when  weighed  in  such  a 
balance  ? 

"  I  am  ashamed  through  all  my  nature,"  when 
I  hear  this  talk  of  demoralization.  Let  us  not  for 
a  moment  admit  the  possibility  of  it.  Let  us  not 
pave  the  way  to  vice  by  announcing  that  we  expect 
it,  and  don't  let  us  expect  it.  Let  us  not  put  up 
sign-boards  and  finger-posts  to  ruin,  and  map  out 
the  country  for  travellers  ?  Let  no  soldier  —  let 
no  Massachusetts  soldier  especially  —  fancy  that 
his  State  will  make  a  mock  at  sin.  She  will  be 
lenient  and  tender  and  forgiving  and  considerate, 
but  not  indifferent.  If  he  forgets  or  forswears  his 
manhood,  he  is  no  son  of  hers.  She  does  not  nour- 
ish and  bring  up  recreants.  Let  him  remember 
that  every  profane  and  obscene  word  loosens  the 
bond  of  love  and  sympathy  between  him  and  her, 
and  diminishes  his  claim  to  her  respect.  If  he 
steals,  or  lies,  or  drinks  himself  drunk,  or  in  any 
way  approves  himself  a  villain,  he  disgraces  her. 
He  shames  the  mother  who  bore  him,  and  is  by  so 
much  a  bastard,  and  not  a  son.  Let  him  not  think 
that,  because  he  has  bared  his  breast  to  bullet  and 
bayonet,  he  shall  cover  the  multitude  of  his  sins. 
She  will  give  him  praise  for  bravery,  but  she  will 
by  no  means  clear  him  of  guilt.  Brute  courage 
shall  not  save  his  soul  from  death,  and  the  time  is 
past  when  it  might  save  his  memory  from  shame. 


OUR   CIVIL    WAR.  403 

Watchftil,  if  loving  eyes  are  upon  him,  North  or 
South,  in  cottage  or  tent,  Massachusetts  expects 
every  man  to  do  his  duty.  If  he  is  a  traitor  to 
that,  let  him  not  suppose  that  his  death  will  bring 
any  loss.  However  afflictive  it  may  be  to  his  fam- 
ily, however  disastrous  to  himself,  his  State  can- 
not mourn  him.  She  has  no  tears  for  such  as  he. 
Sombre  hearse  and  nodding  plume,  prayer  and 
dirge  and  funeral  pomp,  there  may  be,  for,  though 
her  blood  runs  base  in  his  veins,  it  is  still  her 
blood  ;  but  for  the  heart-felt  sorrow,  and  sore  re- 
gret, and  bitter  lamentation,  that  rise  to  heaven 
when  "  a  good  man  meets  his  fate,"  there  shall  be 
a  sense  of  relief  and  quiet  acquiescence.  The  air 
is  purer  by  so  much  as  his  foul  breath  polluted  it. 

I  know  that  a  great  deal  of  scum  has  probably 
floated  southward  in  the  army ;  but,  if  reports 
approximate  the  truth,  there  must  be  a  greater 
deal  of  good,  pure  sap  underneath.  Many  of  the 
unthinking  and  unprincipled  are  doubtless  there, 
but  there  must  be  a  c-reat  number  of  those  who 
have  always  had  the  credit  of  sober  thought  and 
guiding  principle  ;  and  it  is  the  nature  of  matter 
that,  when  light  and  darkness  meet,  darkness  must 
give  way.  A  pretty  pass  things  have  come  to,  if 
a  lamp  excuses  itself  from  shining  because  it  is  in 
a  dark  room !  What  is  the  good  of  having  a 
lamp,  if  it  can  shine  only  in  the  daylight  ?  True, 
light  has  its  limit,  but  one  little  candle  can  throw 
its  beams  very  far  in  a  naughty  world  ;    and  I 


404  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

should  think,  according  to  accounts,  that  there  are 
church-members  enough  in  the  army  to  Christian- 
ize the  world.  Now  let  them  show  whether  the 
great  revival  of  1857  did  anything.  Let  them 
show  whether  praying  and  Christian  profession 
mean  anything.  If  they  do,  every  one  of  these 
men  should  be  a  missionary.  He  should  not  only 
keep  himself  pure,  but  he  should  be  a  disinfectant. 
All  around  him  the  air  should  be  sweet  and  the 
sky  clear.  Let  his  good  works  be  manifest,  that 
his  Father  in  heaven  may  be  glorified.  Never, 
never  had  men  such  a  charge  to  keep  as  have  our 
Christian  soldiers.  They  are  emphatically  the 
Church  militant.  They  have  laid  aside  every 
weight  of  business  and  affection  and  ease  ;  let 
them  lay  aside  the  sins  which  easily  beset, them, 
and  they  may  become  apostles  and  martyrs.  "  Bieu 
et  mon  droit^^  "  Christo  et  Eecledce^^'' — every  watch- 
word that  has  quivered  on  the  lips  of  saint  and 
hero,  and  is  tremulous  still  with  the  love  and  faith 
and  tears  and  blood  that  it  has  embodied,  —  may 
tremble  on  his  lips,  and  find  them  not  unworthy. 
If  he  fall,  he  falls  from  a  greater  height  to  a  lower 
depth.  Let  him  remember  that  New  England  is 
on  trial  in  his  person.  Though  every  other  soldier 
should  grovel  among  beasts,  his  mother  State  bids 
him  among  the  rest,  in  shape  and  gesture  proudly 
eminent,  stand  like  a  tower.  Though  all  others 
be  faithless,  let  him  be  alone  faithful.  Whoever 
denies  the  Lord,  she  bids  him  not  deny  the  Lord. 


OUR  CIVIL   WAR.  405 

She  sends,  forth  her  sons  to  be 

"  A  glorious  company,  the  flower  of  men, 
To  serve  as  model  for  the  mighty  world, 
And  be  the  fair  beginning  of  a  time. 
She  bids  them  lay  their  hands  in  hers,  and  swear 
To  break  the  heathen  and  uphold  the  Christ, 
To  ride  abroad  redressing  human  wrongs, 
To  speak  no  slander,  no,  nor  listen  to  it, 
To  lead  sweet  lives  in  purest  chastity, 
Not  only  to  keep  down  the  base  in  man, 
But  teach  high  thought,  and  amiable  words, 
And  courtliness,  and  the  desire  of  fame. 
And  love  of  truth,  and  all  that  makes  a  man." 

So  fulfilling  her  behests,  forever  green  shall  be 
the  laurel  on  his  brow,  or,  if  God  so  will  it,  the 
turf  upon  his  grave. 

All  this  our  soldiers  will  do  and  be,  God  and 
ourselves  helping  them.  I  do  not  believe  we  shall 
injure  or  discourage  them,  by  putting  the  standard 
too  high.  If  they  are  the  men  we  take  them  to 
be,  they  will  rise  to  the  emergency.  They  will 
justify  the  confidence  we  repose  in  them,  and  mag- 
nify their  office. 

What  is  our  duty  ?  First,  insist  on  their  hav- 
ing plenty  of  good  food.  Hunger  is  a  great  de- 
moralizer. Secondly,  insist  on  their  having  good 
clothes  to  wear.  Rags  are  the  ally  of  the  Devil. 
Thirdly,  provide  them  with  good  reading.  It  is 
the  idle  hands  into  which  Satan  puts  mischief. 
This  is  more  directly  in  our  power  than  the  first 
two.  Those  we  can  only  attain  by  roundabout 
measures,    by   furnishing  money  which   must   go 


406  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

through  a  circuitous  channel,  and  by  sharply- 
supervising  the  supervisors,  at  the  risk  of  being 
often  in  the  wrong  ourselves,  but  with  the  certain 
result  of  inducing  a  more  thorough  attention  than 
if  we  were  indifferent.  Government,  however, 
supplies  no  ration  of  books,  and  the  soldiers  must 
look  directly  to  the  people.  Let  them  not  look  in 
vain.  Fourthly,  we  should  stop  prophesying  evil 
concerning  them.  Prophecies  often  work  their 
own  fulfilment.  Fifthly,  we  should  be  good  our- 
selves, and  this  is  of  the  first  importance.  If  we 
are  at  any  one  time  under  any  stronger  bonds 
than  at  any  other  to  do  justly,  to  love  mercy,  and 
to  walk  humbly  before  God,  it  is  now.  If  any 
exigency  can  call  out  repentance  and  faith  and 
love,  it  is  this.  If  any  terrors  of  the  law  can  per- 
suade men,  if  any  judgments  can  avail  to  turn  our 
feet  to  the  testimonies  of  the  Lord,  it  is  the  terrors 
and  the  judgments  that  are  abroad  to-day.  Our 
sin  entered  into  the  world,  and  the  death  of  our 
beloved  ones,  who  have  been  smitten  down  in  the 
beautiful  promise  of  their  youth,  in  the  glorious 
ripeness  of  their  manhood,  came  by  that  sin.  Sin, 
sins,  are  the  remote  and  the  immediate  cause  of 
these  calamities.  Some  of  the  ramifications  we 
can  trace,  others  subdivide  and  disappear  from  our 
view,  but  not  irom  God's.  We  pandered  to  in- 
iquity. We  have  again  and  again  clipped  our 
birthright,  and  sold  the  fragments  for  messes 
of  very  watery   pottage.      We   have   lightly   es- 


OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  407 

teemed  our  herItao;e  of  freedom.  We  have  made 
us  idols  of  gold,  and  silver,  and  bank-stock,  and 
Yankee  ingenuity,  and  material  progress.  We 
have  v^^axed  fat,  and  kicked  weak  nations,  and 
ranted  ajxainst  strons  ones,  and  exalted  our  own 
to  the  heavens.  We  have  strained  out  without 
much  ado  the  few  little  gnats  that  strayed  into 
our  foreign  wine,  and  have  swallowed,  without 
wincing,  the  heads  of  camels  that  swam  in  our 
home-brewed  ale.  We  have  protected  our  citi- 
zens abroad,  not  so  much  from  the  sacred  mother- 
hood of  country,  or  a  chivalrous  and  Christian 
magnanimity,  as  from  a  tumid  pride  ;  for  where 
our  citizens  have  received  infinitely  worse  treat- 
ment within  our  own  domains,  we  have  held  our 
peace.  Our  reputation  before  the  world  was  not 
at  stake ;  it  was  only  a  family  matter,  so  we 
hushed  it  up.  As  a  people  we  have  minded  our 
personal  affairs  to  the  neglect  of  national.  We 
have  betrayed  the  trust  which  God  reposed  in  us. 
We  have  been  false  to  the  blood  of  our  fathers 
shed  in  battle.  We  have  ignominiously  suffered 
the  nation's  weal  to  be  managed  by  unworthy 
hands.  Becoming  disgusted  with  the  trickery, 
and  venality,  and  selfishness,  and  sordidness  of 
politics,  we  have  given  politics  over  to  knaves,  till 
the  very  word  politician  has  become  a  term  of 
contumely.  Instead  of  going  into  the  den,  and 
clearing  it  out,  we  have  stood  off,  and,  like  Pilate, 
washed  our  hands,  as  if  to  forego  action  was  to 


408  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

forego  responsibility.  And  here  we  are.  Slack- 
ing sail,  sleeping  at  the  helm,  neglecting  our 
soundings,  we  find  ourselves  among  the  breakers. 
Sowing  to  the  wind,  we  reap  the  whirlwind.  The 
chastisement  of  our  guilty  peace  is  upon  us.  Now 
let  us  change  all  this.  Patriotism  demands  that 
every  man,  and  woman,  cleanse  his  soul  from  sin. 
A  nation  is  no  nobler  than  its  individuals.  Every 
man  who  cheats,  or  slanders,  or  steals,  adds  to  the 
aggregate  guilt  of  the  nation,  helps  to  put  it  be- 
yond the  pale  of  God's  protection,  and  is  so  far  a 
traitor.  Every  voter  who  neglects  to  vote  helps 
to  put  his  country  into  evil  hands,  by  not  exerting 
his  utmost  to  put  it  into  good  hands,  and  is  so  far 
a  traitor,  for 

"  On  life's  current  he  who  drifts 
Is  one  with  him  Avho  rows  or  sails." 

Let  every  man  see  to  it  that  the  sin  of  the  na- 
tion lies  no  longer  at  his  door,  that  his  iniquities 
shall  not  draw  down  the  wrath  of  God  upon  it. 
Let  every  man,  by  his  own  upright  dealings, 
by  his  own  unblemished  manhood,  show  convin- 
cingly that  he  is  on  the  side  of  God  and  his  coun- 
try. This  is  the  way  in  which  things  ought  to 
work,  and  this  will  effectually  dispose  of  demoral- 
ization at  home. 

The  events  of  the  last  few  months  have  caiTied 
us  forward  by  centuries.  It  is  like  one  of  those 
great  convulsions  that  mark  the  geologic  ages. 
After    each  upheaval,    the  earth   clothed   herself 


OUR  CIVIL   WAR.  409 

with  new  creations,  each  higher  than  the  last. 
She  never  went  back  on  one  day  to  the  rude 
organizations  which  were  the  glory  of  the  preced- 
ing day.  So  we,  owing  to  this  great  fissure  in  our 
prosperity,  this  great  change  in  our  moral  atmos- 
phere, have  to  adjust  ourselves  to  new  conditions. 
We  shall  press  towards  the  mark  for  the  prize  of  a 
higher  calling.  We  owe  to  God  grander  lives, 
holier  hearts,  than  we  owed  him  last  year. 

0  the  glory  of  this  new-born  freedom !  O 
this  splendid  rebound  from  servile  acquiescence ! 
To  have  thrown  oif  the  intolerable  burden !  To 
cower  no  longer  before  an  overshadowing  evil ! 
To  rise  up  disenthralled  !  The  green  withes  that 
bound  us  snapped  asunder  at  one  blast  of  ear- 
nest resolution,  and  we  walk  joyfully,  unfettered. 
The  thing  which  we  greatly  feared  is  come  upon 
us,  and  lo  it  is  bursting  out  with  good.  That 
fearful  looking  for  is  over.  The  terrible  evils,  war, 
secession,  disunion,  that  have  been  impending  so 
long,  are  here,  and  it  is  a  joy  to  meet  them  face  to 
face  like  a  man.  We  know  now  what  their  grim 
features  are  like,  what  their  boasted  power  is.  We 
can  grapple  with  them  now  in  unrelaxing  death- 
gripe,  and  we  feel  an  added  strength  with  every 
effort.  The  very  struggle  has  a  stern  delight. 
The  very  consciousness  of  fighting  for  the  long- 
oppressed  righteousness  is  an  inspiration.  If  by 
any  sacrifice  we  can  atone  for  the  past,  if  any 
efforts    can   make    restitution,    they   shall   not  be 

18 


410  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

wanting.  God  accept  the  penance  and  forgive 
the  sin. 

Here  then  we  stand  on  vantage-ground  to  do 
battle  with  sin.  We  have  the  prestige  of  victory. 
Our  consciences  are  aroused.  Our  moral  sensibili- 
ties have  partially  recovered  tone.  Now  strike 
while  the  iron  is  hot.  Now  for  great  awakenings, 
revivals,  not  of  emotions  merely,  but  of  religion, 
morality,  and  virtue.  Let  Christians  bestir  them- 
selves, and  the  day  is  theirs.  God's  occasions  are 
floating  by.  As  we  have  dealt  with  one  sin,  so  let 
us  deal  with  every  sin,  —  meet  it,  throttle  it,  away 
with  it. 

It  must  be  so.  It  will  be  so  if  Christians  do 
their  duty.  With  nations,  as  with  individuals,  the 
cross  leads  to  the  crown.  SufFerincr  is  Heaven's 
agent.  It  is  coming  out  of  great  tribulation  that 
we  shall  wash  our  robes  and  make  them  white  in 
the  blood  of  the  Lamb.  This  sickness  is  not  unto 
death.  It  is  to  eternal  life,  if  we  will  have  it  so. 
Trouble  is  perhaps  an  indispensable  agent  in  the 
formation  of  character,  and  we  ought  to  come  out 
of  this  trouble  like  gold  seven  times  tried.  We 
ought  to  be  a  greater  and  a  wiser  nation,  a  nobler 
and  an  honester  people,  better  men,  better  Chris- 
tians. We  ought  to  develop  those  heroic  virtues 
which  spring  only  in  troublous  times.  We  shall 
do  it  if  Christians  will  be  strong,  and  quit  them- 
selves like  men. 

We  have  every  encouragement  to  effort.     All 


OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  411 

hearts  are  stirred  and  softened.  The  air  is  full  of 
the  voice  of  prayer.  Christian  mothers  pray  now 
as  they  never  prayed  before,  and  mothers  that 
never  prayed  before  pray  now.  The  tens  of 
thousands  gone  from  us  went  from  homes.  They 
were  husbands,  brothers,  sons,  the  centres  of 
happy  circles,  the  light  of  tender  eyes.  Love 
filled  their  knapsacks,  and  bade  them  farewell. 
Love  could  even  make  their  hearts  strong  with 
words  of  good  cheer  ;  but  love  cannot  turn  aside 
the  swift  lead  or  the  flashing  steel.  God  alone  is 
great.  He  is  love's  last,  as  he  should  be  love's 
first  resort.  When  love  can  do  no  more,  love 
turns  to  God  with  earnest  prayers  and  tears. 
Every  son  in  the  field  can  be  wrapped  around 
with  an  atmosphere  of  prayer.  Every  mother  will 
pray  for  her  son,  and  because  there  are  some  there 
who  have  no  mothers  to  pray  for  them,  let  every 
mother  pray  for  all  the  motherless,  and  because 
every  man  who  fights  for  our  country  belongs  to 
us  all,  let  all  pray  for  all.  Let  no  soldier  be  able 
to  say  or  to  feel,  "  No  man  cares  for  my  soul  or 
body."  Let  the  lines  between  God  and  us  be 
kept  constantly  open.  Pray  that  our  soldiers  and 
our  citizens  may  be  true  to  their  cause,  may  be 
kept  from  evil  ways,  may  wax  valiant  in  fight, 
invincible  in  virtue.  And  this  praying  spirit 
should  not  be  suffered  to  run  to  waste.  Let  it, 
from  an  emotion,  be  hardened  into  a  principle, 
a   habit.     Let   it  be  penetrative  and   aggressive. 


412  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

Let  all  sorrowful  hearts  be  gently  led  to  Christ,  if 
they  do  not  know  the  way  thither.  Let  the  tender 
promises  of  his  Gospel  fall  like  dew  upon  desolate 
souls.  Let  our  churches  and  our  prayer-meetings 
be  places  where  grief  can  find  consolation,  where 
love  shall  find  sympathy  ;  ignorance,  instruction ; 
loneliness,  society ;  discouragement,  hope  ;  repent- 
ance, assistance ;  and  the  feeblest  germ  of  good, 
that  dew  and  rain  and  sunshine  which  shall  make 
it  spring  up  and  bear  fruit  an  hundred-fold. 

Let  us  be  mindful  of  the  bodily  and  spiritual 
welfare  of  those  who  are  gone  out  from  us,  and 
let  them  constantly  feel  that  we  are  mindful  of  it, 
that  no  forgetfulness  or  negligence  of  ours  give 
them  excuse,  or  occasion,  or  temptation  to  falter. 
Let  us  be  equally  mindful  of  those  at  home,  re- 
membering that  we  are  all  children  of  a  common 
Father.  Let  us  keep  ourselves  pure.  Let  us 
pray  without  ceasing.  Let  us  do  with  our  might, 
and  this  affliction  shall  work  out  for  us  a  far  more 
exceeding  and  eternal  weight  of  glory.  We  shall 
go  on  from  strength  to  strength,  till  in  all,  and 
through  all,  and  over  all,  the  Lord  God  omnipo- 
tent reigneth.     Hallelujah ! 

It  should  continually  be  kept  in  mind  for  our 
consolation,  that  this  war  is  a  consequence,  and  not 
a  cause.  It  is  the  conclusion,  not  the  commence- 
ment of  a  series.  It  is  accepted,  not  initiated. 
It  is  recuperative,  not  destructive.  I  do  not,  of 
course,  mean  to  say  that,  in  the  Divine  plan,  it 


OUR   CIVIL  WAR.  413 

may  not  work  largely  as  a  cause ;  I  speak  of  the 
fact  as  it  presents  itself  to  us.  Florence  Nightin- 
gale says  that  all  disease  is  more  or  less  a  repara- 
tive process,  an  effort  of  nature  to  remedy  a  pro- 
cess of  poisoning,  or  of  decay,  which  has  taken 
place  weeks,  months,  sometimes  years  beforehand, 
unnoticed.  So  this  war  is  but  the  subsequent  of 
disease.  We  may  not  survive,  but  it  is  not  the 
war  that  will  kill  us,  but  what  has  preceded  the 
war.  The  disease  was  in  our  blood.  War  is  but 
the  reaction  of  our  sound  humanity  against  it.  So 
long  as  we  went  on  peacefully,  we  were  heaping 
up  wrath  against  the  day  of  wrath.  The  war  is 
only  saying  to  the  disease,  "  Thus  far  shalt  thou 
go,  and  no  farther." 

They,  therefore,  who  lament  it  as  barbaric,  hea- 
then, a  relic  of  paganism,  are  not  wise.  It  is  all 
that.  War  is  always  that.  An  appeal  to  force  is 
always  the  resort  of  savage,  immature  natures. 
But  the  war  does  not  make  us  savages.  It  only 
reveals  the  fact  that  we  are  savages,  —  a  thing 
which  it  behooves  us  to  know.  The  war  is  not 
a  going  back.  We  were  back  before.  We  have 
never  been  forward.  It  is  true,  we  thought  we 
were.  We  fondly  believed  ourselves  in  the  van  of 
civilization  and  Christianity,  and  it  may  have  been 
so ;  but  civilization  and  Christianity  were  not  so 
far  advanced  as  we  thought.  This  war  shows  us 
where  we  were,  and  we  cry  out  as  if  it  had  put  us 
there.     On  the  contrary,  it  has  not  only  not  re- 


414  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

tarded  us,  but  it  has  given  us  a  good  lift  forward. 
When  we  come  out  of  it,  if  we  come  out  at  all, 
we  shall  be  a  great  deal  farther  on  than  we  ever 
were  before.  There  will  be  deterioration  in  detail, 
but  we  shall  be  on  higher  ground,  with  firmer  feet, 
clearer  vision,  stouter  hearts,  wiser  heads.  Agri- 
culture, manufacture,  and  commerce  may  be  crip- 
pled, but  life  will  be  purified  and  energized.  We 
shall  be  greatly  improved  by  being  distilled. 

What  we  have  to  fear  in  this  war  is  not  rebel 
batteries,  or  foreign  bulletins,  but  God's  sover- 
eignty. Providence  is  on  the  side  of  the  heaviest 
battalions  only  when  the  heaviest  battalions  are  on 
the  side  of  Providence.  Nothing  has  yet  been 
revealed  in  the  ranks  of  our  opponents,  actual  or 
possible,  which  should  dishearten  us.  So  far  as 
anything  we  have  to  fight  against  is  concerned,  I 
do  not  see  that  we  need  anticipate  anything  but 
ultimate,  and  perhaps  not  very  distant  success. 
But  what  I  fear  is,  that  more  is  meant  than  meets 
the  ear,  or  eye,  or  pulse  of  the  great  body  of  the 
people.  I  tremble  when  —  and  only  when  —  I 
remember  that  God  is  just.  The  woe  that  I  dread 
does  not  threaten  us  from  the  South,  nor  from 
over  the  sea,  but  from  the  justice,  the  inexorable- 
ness,  of  God.  He  is  a  sovereign.  His  broken 
laws  must  be  appeased.  Who  can  stand  in  the 
day  of  his  anger  ?  I  fear  lest  we  have  sinned  so 
deeply,  that  he  will  hurl  against  us  the  thunder- 
bolts of  his  wrath,  till  we  be   utterly  consumed. 


OUR    CIVIL   WAR.  415 

It  is  not  only  the  sins  of  the  past,  but  of  the  pres- 
ent, that  rise  up  in  judgment  against  us.  It  is  not 
only  slavery,  and  the  vices  which  it  engenders  and 
occasions,  for  which  we  must  give  account,  but  an 
unclean  spirit,  whose  name  is  Legion,  who  is  prey- 
ing upon  our  integrity.  We  have  abused  the  good 
gifts  of  Heaven.  We  have  accounted  the  blood 
of  our  covenant  an  unholy  thing,  and  have  done 
despite  to  the  spirit  of  grace.  Liberty  has  grown 
to  license  on  our  hands.  Loyalty  has  given  place 
to  treachery.  Our  democracy  is  rampant  and 
reckless.  Our  free  press  is  blatant  and  bloody. 
Our  free  speech  seems  sometimes  to  have  grown 
idiotic.  Our  enterprise  runs  mad.  Proofs  mul- 
tiply daily.  The  course  pursued  by  some  of  our 
newspapers  is  almost  enough  to  make  one  sigh  for 
a  single  hour  of  good,  thorough  Austrian  despot- 
ism. Love  of  country,  fear  of  death,  honor,  pru- 
dence, delicacy,  sense,  seem  to  be  swallowed  up  in 
the  desire  to  see,  or  to  hear,  or  to  tell  some  new 
thing.  Nothing  is  too  gross  for  our  greedy  ears. 
Dinner-table  talk  is  spread  out  with  Boswellian 
minuteness  on  a  daily  newspaper,  and  the  propri- 
etor thinks  it  is  a  feather  in  his  cap.  Some  fly  of 
a  Congressman  chances  to  hear  a  Cabinet  conver- 
sation, and,  wy:h  an  itch  for  immortality,  hops 
straightway  into  the  House  of  Representatives, 
and  twitters  it  all  out.  An  exposed  place  turns 
up  near  Washington,  through  which  a  hostile 
army  might  safely  and  speedily  march  to  our  hurt. 


416  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

and  anon  a  dolt  turns  up  alongside  to  proclaim  it. 
It  is  no  matter  that  the  information  may  enlighten 
rebel  brains  as  well  as  ours.  He  who  can  tell  a 
piece  of  news  is  the  man  for  the  times,  even  if  we 
smart  for  it  afterwards.  If  anybody  can,  no  mat- 
ter how,  find  out  anything,  no  matter  what,  his 
first  duty  is  to  run  and  tell  of  it,  no  matter  to 
whom.  The  possession  of  news  seems  to  give  a 
factitious  importance.  He  who  can  worm  himself 
into  the  inside  of  anything,  and  then  turn  it  wrong 
side  out,  is  a  hero.  It  would  seem  as  if  holding 
one's  tongue  were  a  deadly  sin.  The  gossiping 
propensities  of  village  sewing-societies  have  long 
been  the  theme  of  sarcastic  comment ;  but  sew- 
ing-societies and  female  tea-drinkino;s  are  deaf 
mutes,  compared  with  the  great  Gab  Club  into 
which  American  society  seems  to  have  resolved 
itself. 

The  war  has  also  developed  an  equal  inability 
or  disinclination  in  our  people  to  mind  their  own 
business,  and  let  other  people's  alone.  Civil  fin- 
gers do  not  pry  into  the  military  arcanum  quite  as 
much  as  they  did  before  the  21st  of  July,  1861. 
Then  we  were  carrying  on  the  war  swimmingly, 
knowing  a  great  deal  more  about  it  than  General 
Scott,  marching  down  to  Richmond  with  drums 
beating  and  colors  flying,  sweeping  the  South  from 
Washington  to  New  Orleans,  when,  of  a  sudden. 
Bull  Run  brought  us  all  up  standing.  We  rubbed 
our  eyes,  and  concluded  that  some  things  could 


OUR    CIVIL    WAR.  417 

not  be  done  as  well  as  others,  cleared  ourselves  by 
laying  the  blame  vigorously  on  everybody  else, 
and  have  since  been  more  modest  and  reticent. 
But  the  evil,  abated,  is  not  destroyed.  Officers 
swell  and  strut  in  sudden  importance  at  Washing- 
ton hotels,  and  their  men  lie  drunk  in  the  streets. 
A  quartermaster  sends  provisions  to  troops,  and 
of  thirty  commissioned  officers  not  one  is  to  be 
found  in  camp.  Congressional  busybodies,  instead 
of  stopping  at  home  on  Sunday,  and  saying  their 
prayers,  must  needs  tramp  down  to  see  the  fight. 
It  may  or  may  not  have  been  necessary  to  fight 
the  battle  on  Sunday,  but  it  certainly  was  not 
necessary  for  civilians  to  leave  their  churches,  and 
stand  agape  while  it  was  going  on.  It  is  pleasant 
to  reflect  that  at  least  one  of  them  atoned  for  his 
folly  in  the  prisons  of  Virginia. 

The  petty  schemes  and  petty  ambitions  which 
are  constantly  transpiring  in  our  own  ranks  are  far 
more  alarming  than  anything  which  has  yet  tran- 
spired in  the  rebel  ranks.  It  was  to  be  hoped  that, 
in  such  an  emergency,  all  merely  personal  interests 
would  be  forgotten  in  the  general  good ;  that  every 
man  would  put  his  shoulder  to  the  nearest  wheel  ; 
that  fitness  would  be  the  only  recommendation  to 
place,  and  propriety  the  only  inducement  to  meas- 
ures. But  political  chicanery  cannot  be  given  up ; 
so  there  is  bickering  about  rank,  and  parleying  on 
old  party  distinctions  ;  and,  while  the  country  is 
on  trial  for  life,  men  dare  talk  on  the  bearing  which 

18*  AA 


418  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

such  and  such  a  movement  will  have  on  the  next 
Presidency ! 

There  is  another  thing  on  which  I  look  with 
horror,  as  calculated  to  bring  on  us  swift  destruc- 
tion, and  indicating  that  we  deserve  it.  I  mean 
the  indulgence  of  what  is  called  the  war  spirit. 
The  war  spirit  is  utterly  hateful.  Just  so  far  as  it 
acquires  dominion  over  us,  it  will  drag  us  down  to 
death.  We  may  count  it  all  joy  that  we  are  reck- 
oned worthy  to  resist  unto  blood  striving  against 
«in.  We  should  count  it  all  joy  that  God  has 
given  us  spirit  and  strength  to  rise  up  at  last 
against  the  iniquity  which  has  overshadowed  us  so 
long.  We  should  feel  a  righteous  satisfaction  in 
the  struggle,  so  far  as  it  is  a  struggle  of  right 
against  wrong  ;  but  coarse  exultation,  ghastly  jest- 
ing, lust  of  revenge,  pride  of  conquest,  gloating 
over  the  anticipated  punishment  of  the  rebels,  — 
this  is  of  the  Devil,  devilish.  I  see  prints  in  the 
shop  windows  which  seem  to  me  like  the  hand- 
writing on  the  wall.  I  see  little  bovs  dressed  in 
Zouave  costume,  and  brandishing  tiny  swords,  and 
I  am  sick  at  heart.  We  are  throwing  a  meretri- 
cious glare  around  the  war,  and  concealing  its  true 
issues.  We  ought  not  to  veil  from  ourselves  the 
fact  that  it  is  solemn,  terrible,  momentous.  We 
cannot  comprehend  the  grandeur  of  the  interests 
involved,  but  we  can  gird  ourselves  to  present 
duty,  lay  aside  every  weight  and  the  sins  which 
so  easily  beset  us,  and  press  forward.     Levity  is 


«      OUR    CIVIL    WAR.  41<» 

the  result  of  ignorance  or  bravado.  What  I  want 
is,  that  we  should  be  awake  to  the  emergency. 
We  should  put  down  the  war-spirit,  and  put  up 
the  Christ-spirit.  It  is  a  question,  not  of  the 
strength  of  the  people,  but  the  virtue  of  the  people, 
which  is  their  strength.  Are  there  ten  righteous 
men  to  save  the  city?  I  believe  there  are,  not- 
withstandino;  unfavorable  indications.  The  scum 
comes  first  to  the  surface,  but  there  must  be  a  mass 
of  pure  liquid  below,  which  will  make  itself  felt. 
The  unanimity  of  the  people  is  astonishing.  Their 
spirit  of  self-sacrifice  is  noble,  and  not  to  be  mis- 
taken. Only  when  we  have  bestowed  our  goods, 
and  given  our  bodies  to  be  burned,  let  us  not  with- 
hold that  other  gift  without  wdiich  this  will  profit 
us  nothing.  While  doing  our  utmost,  we  should 
pray  our  utmost,  for  we  are  in  the  hands  of  God, 
and  not  in  the  hands  of  man.  We  must  sanctify 
ourselves,  if  we  would  keep  the  sacred  fire  burn- 
ing. We  should  humble  ourselves  before  God, 
repent  of  and  turn  from  our  sins,  purify  our  mo- 
tives, and  count  all  sacrifices  nothing,  if  at  last, 
tried  seven  times  in  the  fire,  we  may  stand  before 
Him,  accepted  in  the  beloved. 

No  one  lesson  is  more  clearly  taught  by  passing 
events,  than  the  danger  of  tampering  with  iniquity. 
Our  fathers  knew  and  felt  and  acknowledged 
that  slavery  was  wrong.  Its  glaring  inconsistency 
with  the  principles  for  which  they  had  fought,  and 
on  which  they  proposed  to  found  a  great  nation, 


420  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

was  as  obvious  to  them  as  it  is  to  the  Garrison 
Abolitionists.  They  would  gladly  have  extermi- 
nated it  at  once  ;  but  there  was  strong  opposition, 
and,  in  view  of  its  expected  speedy  natural  death, 
they  decided  not  to  throw  it  summarily  over  the 
ship's  side,  but  to  roll  it  gently  down  an  inclined 
plane  — just  as  surely  into  the  sea.  Instead  of 
making  it  go  at  once,  they  stood  upon  the  order  of 
its  going.  They  compromised  with  the  sum  of  all 
villanies.  They  admitted  it  into  the  Constitution, 
not  by  name,  but  by  a  well-understood  euphuism. 
They  meant  no  harm.  They  meant  only  good. 
They  conceived  themselves  to  be  acting  wisely  and 
rightly.  Nothing  was  further  from  their  thoughts 
than  the  subsequent  sudden  rise  and  increase  of 
slavery.  They  supposed  that,  though  they  had 
not  killed  it  outright,  they  had  but  smoothed  its 
pathway  to  the  tomb.  What  was  the  result  ? 
The  demoralization  of  the  country  for  years,  the 
rebellion  and  treason  that  now  stalk  abroad  un- 
ashamed, the  blood  shed  in  Baltimore  and  in 
many  a  battle  since,  the  earthquake  shock  that 
quivers  through  all  the  land,  —  these  make  answer 
to-day,  "  Sin,  when  it  is  finished,  bringeth  forth 
death."  It  was  a  little  sin,  —  only  a  little  yield- 
ing to  wrong,  for  a  little  while,  —  but  it  has 
brought  forth  death. 

Not  that  we  should  reproach  our  fathers  for  in- 
corporating into  our  national  existence  one  baleful 
tjlement ;    but  that  we  are  to  take   warning  from 


OUR    CIVIL    WAR.  421 

them.  They  had  not  our  precedent  and  our  les- 
son. They  saw  only  as  a  mustard-seed  this  evil 
which  we  see  as  a  broad-spreading  tree.  It  was 
so  small  a  compromise  that  doubtless  it  seemed  to 
them  scarcely  any  compromise  at  all.  But  we 
have  seen  how  the  little  worm  has  gnawed  at  the 
life  of  a  nation,  and  carried  sorrow  and  a  fearful 
lookincT  for  into  thousands  of  families.  Their  mo- 
tives  were  doubtless  upright,  but  God's  laws  in 
action  are  modified  only  by  each  other.  A  moth- 
er's tenderest  love  ruins  her  child  by  mismanage- 
ment just  as  thoroughly  as  if  it  were  the  intensest 
hate.  Isabella  of  Spain,  a  pure  and  lovely  wo- 
man, a  most  just  and  gracious  monarch,  cherished 
in  her  inmost  heart  the  welfare  of  her  people ;  yet 
she  fastened  upon  their  necks  the  heavy  yoke  of 
the  Inquisition,  under  which  they  have  groaned, 
being  burdened,  now  these  four  hundred  years. 
God  did  not  hinder  her  from  laying  the  axe  at  the 
root  of  her  kingdom,  because  she  verily  thought 
she  was  doing  him  and  it  service.  It  may  be  said 
that  the  original  concessions  were  necessary ;  that 
the  war  of  the  Revolution,  with  all  its  sacrifices 
and  sufferings,  would  have  been  in  vain  without 
some  such  compromise ;  that  the  States  would 
have  refused  to  become  United  States,  and  so  the 
nation  would  have  been  strangled  at  its  birth, — 
nay,  would  not  have  been  born  at  all. 

Here  we   pass   from    the  known   into  the  un- 
known.    We  do  not  know  that  anything  of  the 


422  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

sort  would  have  happened ;  and  if  it  had  hap- 
pened, we  do  not  know  that  it  was  not  the  very 
best  thing  that  could  have  happened.  We  might 
have  failed  to  be  a  great  power,  but  God  is  able  of 
the  very  stones  to  raise  up  powers  unto  himself. 
"  It  is  necessary  for  me  to  go,  it  is  not  necessary 
for  me  to  live,"  was  Pompey's  reply  to  the  weep- 
ing friends  who  would  have  held  him  back  from 
fate.  It  is  necessary  to  do  right ;  it  is  not  neces- 
sary to  be  a  nation.  What  might  have  happened 
liad  HbtTty  been  brought  out  from  the  struggle 
witli  no  blot  on  her  escutcheon,  we  do  not  know. 
She  caine  out  with  one  damning  spot  thereon,  and 
what  has  happened  we  do  know.  Sin,  finished, 
has  brought  forth  death,  and  the  end  is  not  yet. 
No.  Wrong  is  wrong  forevermore.  The  cor- 
rupt tree  brings  forth  corrupt  fruit,  however  care- 
fully planted  and  constantly  watered.  Purity  of 
motive  may  avail  the  actor  before  God,  but  not 
the  act  in  his  world.  Consequences  follow  relent- 
lessly on  the  heels  of  causes.  A  fact  once  a  fact 
is  forever  beyond  our  reach.  What  may  come  of 
it  we  do  not  know,  and  it  is  not  our  province  to 
ascertain.  We  are  responsible  only  for  the  fact. 
Of  course,  I  speak  only  of  actions  that  have  a 
moral  quality.  There  are  many  courses  of  con- 
duct which  have,  of  themselves,  no  moral  quality, 
and  their  eligibility  depends  entirely  on  the  prob- 
able consequences ;  but  when  two  ways  are  open, 
one  of  which  is  right,  and  the  other  a  little  wrong, 


OUR   CIVIL    WAR.  .  423 

we  are  to  choose  the  right,  notwithstanding  the 
evils  which  threaten  to  follow.  The  choice  is 
ours,  the  consequences  God's.  We  see  the  evils 
behind  the  right ;  we  do  not  see  the  evils  behind 
the  wrono; ;  but  the  inexorable  logic  of  God's  laws 
will  ultimately  reveal  them.  It  may  seem  to  you 
that  the  wrono;  is  but  for  a  moment,  and  its  effects 
imperceptible ;  but  some  fact  of  which  you  never 
dreamed  may  be  travelling  towards  you  with 
swift,  unerring  feet,  and  its  spear-touch  shall 
change  your  dwarf  into  a  giant.  Your  little  sin 
shall  receive  an  impulse  that  will  drive  it  on  con- 
tinually, perpetuating,  enlarging,  and  multiplying 
itself.  The  men  of  the  Revolution  could  not  see 
an  idea  which  lay  hidden  in  Whitney's  brain,  but 
at  the  appointed  hour  it  came  forth,  and  changed 
the  face  and  fate  of  slavery.  The  moment  you  do 
a  wrong  thing,  no  matter  though  your  motives  be 
pure,  no  matter  even  though  you  are  unconscious 
of  the  wrong,  that  moment  you  have  put  your- 
self out  of  the  line  of  God's  righteous  sequences ; 
you  have  disturbed  relations,  destroyed  balance, 
broken  law,  and  you  know  not  where  you  are,  nor 
whither  you  are  drifting.  But  do  the  right  thing, 
and,  though  you  may  not  see  the  way  far  before 
you,  you  may  surely  know  that  you  are  in  har- 
mony with  "*God,  you  are  parallel  with  the  line  of 
his  laws.  You  are  precisely  where  you  ought  to 
be,  and  who  is  he  that  shall  harm  you,  if  ye  be 
followers  of  that  which  is  good  ? 


424  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

But  this  "  logic  of  events  "  has  two  sides.  It 
is  powerful  for  good  as  for  evil.  An  act  done 
with  bad  intentions  may  result  in  good,  just  as 
truly  as  act  done  with  good  intentions  may  result 
in  evil.  Let  this  be  our  hope  to-day.  A  most 
wicked  war  is  waged  by  the  South  for  the  support 
and  extension  of  slavery.  Glory  to  God  in  the 
highest,  and  on  earth  peace,  if  it  shall  result  in 
the  abolition  of  slavery.  Our  fathers  did  not  take 
up  arms  for  independence,  but  they  achieved  it 
before  they  laid  them  down.  We  did  not  enter 
upon  this  war  for  the  purpose  of  abolishing  slav- 
ery, but  every  day  strengthens  the  probability  that 
that  will  be  the  issue.  It  is  not  the  end  which  the 
government  has  in  view,  but  it  may  be  the  end 
which  God  has  in  view.  Destiny  marches  on, 
and  if  slavery  stands  in  the  way,  slavery  must  go 
down.  There  would,  indeed,  be  a  sublime,  a 
divine  justice,  in  destroying  this  overshadowing 
wrong  by  the  very  instruments  relied  on  for  its 
indefinite  increase.  It  was  begun  with  set  pur- 
pose of  wickedness,  but  let  not  him  that  girdeth  on 
his  harness  boast  himself  as  he  that  putteth  it  off. 
Once  begun,  the  war  and  its  issues  passed  out  of 
the  hands  of  its  beginners  forever.  It  will  go  on 
according  to  its  own  irresistible  laws.  The  voice 
that  evoked  is  powerless  to  lay  it.  The  hideous 
monster  may  become  the  terror  and  the  destruc- 
tion of  its  creators.  Nor,  if  this  is  indeed  in  the 
decrees  of  God,  can  men  at  the  North,  any  more 


OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  425 

than  mobs  at  the  South,  prevent  it.  The  North- 
ern mind  is  gradually  becoming  famiharized  with 
the  thought,  and  the  more  we  look  at  it  the  more 
desirable  it  seems.  The  Republicans  spoke  truly 
in  affirming  that  they  did  not  design  to  meddle 
with  slavery  in  the  slave  States ;  but  twenty,  fifty, 
a  hundred  years  of  change  have  come  since  then, 
and  different  premises  require  different  conclu- 
sions. Slavery  has  meddled  with  them.  Slavery 
has  reached  out  its  leprous  hand  to  strike  at  them, 
and  to  pollute  the  fair  heritage  they  would  leave 
to  their  children  ;  and  it  is  to  be  decided  now  how 
best  to  "  crush  the  wretch."  It  is  a  difficult  and 
a  dangerous  problem,  but  it  will  be  solved.  Just 
how  the  bands  of  the  oppressed  are  to  be  loosened 
we  do  not  see  ;  nor  how  the  victims  of  oppression, 
freed  from  its  fetters,  shall  be  freed  from  its  hor-. 
rors,  its  vices  and  ignorance  and  barbarism  ;  but 
the  same  God  that  has  used  this  nation  to  enslave 
them,  and  shall  use  it  to  free  them,  —  making 
us,  free  agents  as  we  are  in  our  small  spheres, 
blind  tools  to  work  his  will  in  his  infinite  sphere, 
—  can  surely  make  and  point  out  a  way  to  pre- 
serve, protect,  and  enlighten  his  down-trodden 
little  ones.  We  must  hurry  slowly.  We  need 
not  borrow  trouble.  When  the  time  comes,  we 
shall  have  come  too.  Our  present  duty  is  to 
secure  and  maintain  the  integrity  of  the  nation. 
God  will  strengthen  and  fit  us  for  anv  work  that 
may  result   from   the   prosecution   of  this    work. 


426  COUNTRY  LIVING, 

Confident  I  am,  that  where  one  man,  a  year  ago, 
considered  the  speedy  extinction  of  slavery  feasible 
and  desirable,  one  thousand  watch,  and  wait,  and 
pray  for  it  now. 

Let  the  war  go  on,  then.  If  .we  are  not  en- 
gaged in  a  righteous  cause,  may  the  Lord  send  us 
defeat  after  defeat,  disappointment  after  disappoint- 
ment, till  we  weary  of  fighting  against  him,  and 
return  repentant  to  his  ways.  I  know  no  such 
ethics  as  *'  My  country,  right  or  wrong !  "  save,  as 
has  been  admirably  said,  when  right,  to  be  kept 
right,  —  when  wrong,  to  be  put  right.  If  we  are, 
as  I  verily  believe,  armed  with  the  sword  of  the 
Lord,  let  us  go  on,  if  God  please,  till  every  inch 
of  our  soil  is  free,  —  free  to  slaves,  free  to  free- 
men. Let  the  Black  Hole  be  cleansed,  and  thrown 
open  to  the  day.  Let  there  be  no  corner  of  our 
vast  domain  where  ipan  shall  not  be  held  sacred, 
where  his  opinions  may  not  find  free  utterance, 
and  his  person  entire  safety.  The  South  says  she 
may  be  crushed,  but  she  cannot  be  conquered. 
Very  well.  Let  her  be  crushed,  then.  Just  as 
she  pleases  about  that.  The  hurt  of  the  daughter 
of  my  people  is  no  surface  wound,  to  be  gently 
bathed  and  tenderly  bandaged.  It  is  a  deep-seated 
sore,  sending  down  its  malignant  influences  to  the 
dividing  asunder  of  soul  and  spirit,  making  the 
whole  head  sick  and  the  whole  heart  faint.  If 
nothing  will  avail  but  the  surgeon's  knife,  let  the 
surgeon's  knife  cut  sharp,  quick,  and  deep.     It  is 


OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  427 

better  to  enter  into  life  maimed,  than  to  die  un- 
scathed. Let  us  be  sealed  unto  God,  even  though 
we  be  baptized  with  the  baptism  of  fire.  The 
North  is  not  to  be  saved  from  the  South.  The 
South  is  to  be  saved  from  herself.  Her  own  loyal 
sons  are  to  be  saved  from  the  foes  of  her  own 
household.  Her  children  are  to  be  saved  from 
the  vice  that  creeps  in  upon  their  hearthstones, 
and  corrupts  their  blood,  and  poisons  their  man- 
hood, and  darkens  their  womanhood.  The  whole 
country  is  to  be  saved  from  the  traitors  that  defile 
while  they  attack  it.  Every  blow  struck  is  struck 
for  the  South  as  much  as  for  the  North.  We 
strike  at  the  rebels  and  the  rebellion  of  the  South, 
and  for  the  South.  The  only  victory  we  want  is 
over  her  worst  enemies.  North  and  South  will 
alike,  though  not  equally,  suffer.  We  look  for  no 
easy  conquest.  We  are  prepared  to  meet  the  en- 
ergy of  despair.  We  anticipate  a  mortal  combat, 
but  the  South  must  be  redeemed.  She  must  be 
brought  out  from  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of 
Death.  Most  gladly  would  we  give  every  son 
of  hers  the  right  hand  of  fellowship,  and  bid  him 
good  luck  in  the  name  of  the  Lord;  but  if  the 
wrong  can  be  wiped  out  only  by  wiping  out  the 
men  who  cherish  it,  and  the  men  who  defend  it, 
God's  will  be  done.  The  land  shall  rest  and 
enjoy  her  Sabbaths.  As  long  as  it  lieth  desolate, 
it  shall  rest.  It  is  better  that  a  state  should  be 
a  desolation  than  an  abomination.     Men  and  wo- 


428  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

men  and  children,  the  innocent  and  the  guilty, 
must  suffer  alike  ;  but  it  hath  been  so  aforetime. 
It  is  the  immutable  law  of  God,  that  the  penalty 
of  guilt  shall  not  be  monopolized  by  its  perpetra- 
tors ;  but  the  South  grinds  in  the  prison-house, 
and  the  redemption  of  her  soul  is  precious.  Not 
revenge,  nor  hatred,  nor  pride,  but  the  tenderest 
love  and  the  largest  benevolence  demand  the  sac- 
rifice. The  dumb  mouths  of  her  fettered  children, 
black  and  white,  the  generations  that  wait  in  the 
grand  and  awful  future,  the  here  and  the  here- 
after, all  demand  this  at  our  hands.  The  justice 
and  truth  in  our  own  hearts  demand  it  with  so  im- 
perative a  voice,  that  it  were 

"  better  to  have  fought  and  lost, 
Than  never  to  have  fought  at  all." 

Let  us  make  the  case  our  own.  Is  there  a  man, 
woman,  or  child  in  Massachusetts,  who  would  not 
rather  our  beloved  State  (God  bless  her  !)  should 
sink  into  the  ocean  depths  forever,  w^ith  her  freight 
of  a  million  souls,  than  that  she  should  be  given 
up  to  slavery  ?  And  should  we  spare  any  sacri- 
fice to  save  others  from  a  doom  which  is  so  fearful 
to  ourselves  ? 

Let  us  come  up  to  the  height  of  this  great  argu- 
ment. Let  us  be  strong,  and  quit  ourselves  like 
men. 

I  have  seen  and  heard  deprecations  of  slavery 
discussions  at  the  present  crisis.  "  This  war,"  it 
is  said,  "  is  not  a  war  for  the  abolition  of  slav- 


OUR    CIVIL   WAR.  429 

ery,  but  for  the  existence  of  the  government." 
"  Antislavery  harangues  will  only  ahenate  some 
who  are  now  the  stanch  alMes  of  the  govern- 
ment." "  Many  will  become  disaffected,  if  the 
war  is  made  to  turn  slavery-ward."  "  One  thing 
at  a  time."  In  all  of  which  there  is  some  truth  ; 
but,  ever  since  I  can  remember,  balancing  of 
powers,  parties,  and  principles  has  been  in  vogue, 
and  this  is  what  we  have  come  to.  Here,  an 
able  leader,  a  world-renowned  statesman,  can- 
not be  our  candidate  for  the  Presidency,  because 
his  election  will  drive  the  South  into  secession. 
There,  a  measure  must  be  dropped,  because  it  will 
alienate  certain  localities.  Such  and  such  a  terri- 
tory must  be  acquired,  at  the  price  of  blood,  to 
conciliate  such  an  interest.  Such  and  such  a  ques- 
tion must  not  be  debated,  because  it  M'ill  inflame 
passions.  So  we  have  tacked  and  sliifted  and 
beaten,  and  here  we  are  phimp  in  the  middle  of 
the  very  whirlpool  which  our  prudence  was  to 
avoid.  With  all  our  reticence,  we  are  precisely 
in  the  position  which  w^e  were  reticent  in  order  to 
keep  out  of.  Now  let  us  try  another  plan  awhile. 
Let  us  say  what  we  think,  and  be  straightforward, 
and  not  so  far-sighted  for  consequences,  and  see 
where  that  will  land  us.  If  there  are  any  persons 
attached  to  this  government  by  such  a  spider's 
web  that  they  will  fall  off  if  slavery  is  brought  in, 
let  them  fall.  Doubtless  the  government  can  stand 
it,  if  they  can.     A  patriotism  that,  at  this  late  day, 


430  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

will  suffer  itself  to  be  cut  loose  from  its  country  by 
slavery  discussions,  is  not  a  thing  to  be  depended 
on.  Patriotism,  to  be  good  for  much,  must  be  made 
of  sterner  stuff. 

Moreover,  what  is  true  in  the  remarks  I  have 
quoted  applies  solely  to  the  government.  Nobody 
wants  Mr.  Lincoln .  to  issue  a  proclamation  an- 
nouncing the  object  of  the  war  to  be  the  abolition 
of  slavery.  It  would  not  be  true.  The  war  is, 
indeed,  a  war  of  self-defence,  not  of  slavery  extinc- 
tion ;  but  this  self-defence  may  come  to  demand 
the  extinction  of  slavery  as  a  "  military  necessity." 
Until  then,  government  has  no  right  to  act  in  the 
matter.  "  One  thing  at  a  time,"  certainly.  The 
one  thing  on  hand  now  is  the  war,  which  is  to  be 
carried  vigorously  on  to  a  successful  termination. 
But  it  is  to  be  carried  on  by  the  government ;  and 
the  readers  and  writers  of  books  and  of  newspa- 
pers generally,  the  speakers  and  hearers  in  popular 
assemblies,  the  hosts  and  guests  in  drawing-rooms, 
the  knots  at  the  exchanges  and  the  village  post- 
offices,  are  not  the  government.  Down  below  the 
government  lies  the  people  ;  and  while  the  govern- 
ment, at  the  bidding  of  the  people,  its  creator  and 
master,  is  crushing  rebellion,  and  uprooting  trea- 
son, and  protecting  loyalty,  and  vindicating  its  own 
life,  "  we,  the  people,"  may  legally  and  reasonably 
take  counsel  together  that  the  republic  nevermore 
receive  harm  from  the  hand  that  strikes  at  it  now. 
This  is  alike  our  duty  and  our  right.    Having  pro- 


OUR    CIVIL   WAR.  431 

vided  the  sinews  of  war,  we  have  nothing  further 
to  do  with  it  but  watch  and  wait  and  pray.  It  is 
not  in  our  power  or  our  province  to  direct  its 
processes.  Our  interference  would  be  intermed- 
dhng.  We  order  its  existence,  but  we  delegate  its 
details  to  other  hands.  Yet  we  hold  the  power. 
We  are  responsible  to  God,  and  we  shall  be  held 
to  strict  account  by  posterity,  for  the  direction 
which  that  power  takes.  When  this  people  wills 
to  put  away  the  accursed  thing,  the  accursed  thing 
will  go.  While  the  armies  are  fighting,  we  should 
plan.  When  they  come  back  to  us  garlanded  with 
laurel,  we  should  go  out  to  meet  them,  not  only 
with  grateful  welcome,  but  with  the  death-warrant 
in  our  hands  of  the  wretch  whose  wrath  they  have 
bearded,  whose  cunning  they  have  foiled,  and 
whose  power  they  have  broken. 

Has  not  the  accursed  thing  filled  up  the  meas- 
ure of  its  iniquities  ?  Read  the  roll  of  crimes.  It 
is  written  in  blood.  What  woe  it  has  wrought  to 
that  unhappy  race  which  has  writhed  under  its 
grinding  heel,  we  only  a  little  know.  Into  the 
secrets  of  that  prison-house  we  cannot  penetrate. 
Over  that  bridge  of  sighs  we  may  not  pass.  Ever 
and  anon  a  miasmatic  blast  sweeps  past  our  star- 
tled ears.  A  sob,  a  wail,  a  shriek,  a  moan,  floats 
up  the  heavy  air.  A  lurid  light  flames  out,  a 
sickly  sunshine,  pale,  and  blue,  and  ghastly,  flick- 
ers for  a  moment  on  the  sluggish  bog,  but  tho 
silence  and  darkness  come  back.     Only  the  All- 


432  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

seeing  Eye  discerns.  God  forgive  us  that  we  have 
been  too  insensate  of  our  lowly  brother's  woe,  too 
unmindful  of  his  weal.  God  overrule  his  long 
sorrow  to  his  longer  joy,  as  we  believe  He  has 
already  begun  to  do,  and  turn  away  from  us  the 
fierceness  of  His  ano-er. 

o 

But  what  the  grim  Grendel  has  wrought  for  our 
own  race  we  better  know.  All  these  years  he 
had  been  working  evil  under  the  sun.  Bench, 
and  bar,  and  hall,  and  pulpit,  and  counting-room, 
and  field,  and  fireside,  have  been  tainted  with  his 
presence.  He  has  tampered  with  public  and  pri- 
vate honesty.  He  has  debased,  degraded,  and 
brutalized  American  freemen,  marring  their  birth- 
right. He  has  turned  their  beautiful  garden  into 
a  wilderness.  The  ignorance  that  disgraces,  the 
vice  that  demoralizes,  the  barrenness  that  lays 
waste  the  South,  are  all  his  work.  He  has  made 
our  nation  a  stumbling-block,  a  hissing,  and  a  by- 
word to  the  nations.  He  has  introduced  discord 
and  brawling,  insolence,  rapacity,  and  murder, 
into  our  national  councils.  The  bitter  hatred  that 
fires  the  South  against  the  North  is  all  his  doing. 
The  financial  derangement  that  weighs  so  heavily 
and  perplexes  so  fearfully,  that  plows  furrows  in 
young  brows,  and  baffles  the  wisdom  of  old  expe- 
rience, and  scatters  the  fruits  of  life-long  toil,  and 
imbitters  homes  with  anxieties  for  the  loved,  —  all 
are  of  him.  But  the  destruction  of  property,  the 
stagnation  of  business,  the  pressure  of  want,  are 


OUR    CIVIL   WAR.  433 

the  least  evils  of  Slavery.  He  has  despoiled  us 
of  our  honor.  He  has  poisoned  our  fountains. 
He  has  polluted  our  holy  things.  The  wide- 
spread treachery  that  has  desolated  us  like  a 
plague,  and  made  us  feel  as  if  the  solid  ground 
were  failing  beneath  our  feet,  had  its  root  and  rise 
in  him.  The  broken  oaths,  the  piled-up  perjuries 
that  have  at  once  exasperated  and  saddened  us,  He 
at  his  door.  What  shall  a  man  give  in  exchange 
for  his  soul?  What  woe  can  fall  upon  a  nation 
like  the  disgrace  of  her  children  ?  What  is  the 
price  of  a  mother's  blush  for  her  son's  shame  ? 

Slavery  has  done  more.  His  hands  are  red 
and  reeking.  O  my  country  !  The  voice  of  year 
children's  blood  crieth  unto  you  from  the  Ever- 
glades of  Florida  and  the  lowlands  of  Texas.  It 
was  Slavery  that  led  them  and  left  them  there  to 
die.  It  is  Slavery  that  arms  brother  against 
brother  to-day.  Young  wives  are  widow^s,  young 
children  are  fatherless,  old  men  go  mourning  to 
the  grave,  matron  and  maiden  are  desolate,  be- 
cause Slavery  has  laid  the  delight  of  their  eyes  in 
the  dust.  From  once  fair  Maryland  and  royal 
Virginia  —  old  and  blighted  and  effete  before 
their  time  under  the  simoom  of  Slavery  —  pale^ 
still  forms  are  borne  back  to  us,  that  went  out 
overflowing  with  sweet  life.  The  youngest,  the 
bravest,  and  the  best  have  fallen.  Love  and  lib- 
erty and  law,  whatever  is  most  beautiful,  most 
cherished,   most    sacred,    this    Slavery   demands. 

19  BB 


434  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

The  tears  of  mothers,  the  silent  anguish  of  white- 
haired  fathers,  the  fears  and  foreboding  and 
heart-ache  that  sit  by  uncounted  firesides,  mark 
where  his  footsteps  have  been. 

Now  let  us  make  an  end  ;  for  why  should  we  be 
destroyed,  we  and  our  children  ?  When  we  scotch 
the  snake,  why  not  kill  him,  and  have  done  with 
it  ?  We  may  disable  him  for  a  time  ;  but  so  long 
as  there  is  life  left  in  him,  there  is  an  accursed 
thing  in  the  midst  of  thee.  O  Israel,  thou  canst 
not  stand  before  thine  enemies  until  ye  take  away 
the  accursed  thing  from  among  you.  We  may 
crush  the  rebellion,  and  reinstate  peace,  but  if  we 
leave  slavery  where  it  was,  if  we  simply  restore  the 
statu  quo^  it  will  be  sowing  to  the  wind,  and  our 
children  will  have  to  reap  another  whirlwind,  only 
more  violent  than  that  which  is  sweeping  over  us. 
Just  as  long  as  slavery  is  a  part  of  our  institutions, 
just  so  long  is  there  a  rotten  pillar  in  our  temple, 
which  may  at  any  moment  give  way,  and  bring  us 
to  confusion  and  destruction.  To  restore  peace, 
leaving  slavery  as  it  was,  is  to  put  a  ship  on  her 
course  when  she  has  been  lightened  by  the  spas- 
modic efforts  of  "  all  hands  at  the  pumps,"  with- 
out stopping  the  hole  through  which  the  water 
rushed  in.  It  is  to  weed  a  garden  by  cutting 
off  the  witch-grass  with  a  hoe.  It  is  to  allay 
boiling  and  steam  by  pouring  on  cold  water.  We 
want  not  only  the  hold  emptied,  but  the  leak 
stopped.     We  want  not  only  treason  cut  off,  but 


OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  435- 

its  roots  dug  up.  We  want  not  only  the  steam 
checked,  but  the  fire  put  out,  so  that  there  may  be 
no  more  steam  made.  We  do  not  want  every 
generation  or  every  century  to  be  convulsed  as  we 
have  been.  Let  us  make  a  full  end.  If  we  stop 
short  of  that,  all  our  work  will  have  to  be  done 
over  again  at  some  time.  There  is  an  irrepressible 
conflict  between  freedom  and  slavery.  There  will 
be  an  irrepressible  agitation  so  long  as  they  both 
live.  We  never  can  have  peace  with  this  element 
of  discord.  We  cannot  serve  God  and  mammon. 
One  or  the  other  must  be  dethroned.  We  are  not 
left  in  doubt  as  to  which  it  shall  be.  Eighty  years 
of  trial  have  revealed  the  true  aspect  and  tenden- 
cies of  Slavery.  Arraigned  at  the  bar  of  civiliza- 
tion and  Christianity,  the  verdict  is,  "  Guilty !  " 
In  her  has  been  found  the  blood  of  prophets  and 
of  saints.  She  is  become  the  habitation  of  devils, 
and  the  hold  of  every  foul  spirit,  and  a  cage  of 
every  unclean  and  hateful  bird.  All  nations  have 
drunk  of  the  wine  of  the  wrath  of  her  fornication  ; 
and  I  hear  a  voice  from  heaven  saying,  Come  out 
of  her,  my  people,  that  ye  be  not  partakers  of  her 
sins,  and  that  ye  receive  not  of  her  plagues  ;  for 
her  sins  have  reached  unto  heaven,  and  God  hath 
remembered  her  iniquities.  Reward  her  even  as 
she  rewarded  you,  and  double  unto  her  double 
according  to  her  works  :  in  the  cup  which  she  hath 
filled,  fill  to  her  double. 

I  know  that  even   slavery  has  its   sunny  side. 


436  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

Kindness,  benevolence,  affection,  devotion,  self- 
sacrifice,  are  not  wanting  there.  Instruments  of 
love  as  well  as  instruments  of  cruelty  are  in  that 
habitation.  Man  is  better  as  well  as  worse  than 
his  system.  But  a  luxurious  vegetation  springs  up 
i-om  the  deadly  Pontine  Marshes.  It  was  a  goodly 
Babylonish  garment,  a  splendidly  massive  golden 
wedge,  shekels  of  fine  silver,  that  wrought  folly 
in  Israel.  But  for  all  their  gold  and  goodliness, 
they  were  none  the  less  an  accursed  thing.  More- 
over, the  virtues  that  exist  in  slavery  do  not  spring 
from  it,  but  in  spite  of  it.  Slavery  does  not  cher- 
ish them.  It  only  cannot  kill  them.  The  destruc- 
tion of  slavery  would  not  be  the  destruction,  but 
the  cultivation,  of  every  good  thing  that  is  found 
in  it.  Its  abolition  will  be  the  abolition  of  what  is 
hideous,  an  abomination  to  God  and  man.  Every 
pleasant  relation,  every  opportunity  for  the  exer- 
cise of  every  virtue,  will  remain.  Every  grace 
that  makes  slavery  less  repulsive  will  make  free- 
dom more  beautiful.  Every  gem  that  adorns  the 
brow  of  slavery  shall  be  transferred,  to  shine  with 
renewed  and  increasing  lustre  in  the  diadem  of 
freedom.  Nothing  will  be  permanently  lost,  but 
that  whose  loss  is  infinite  gain. 

I  know  that  slavery  cannot  be  destroyed  with- 
out inconvenience,  and  perhaps  positive  suffering, 
on  the  part  of  many  who  are  guiltless  of  its  sin ; 
but  it  cannot  be  retained  without  immeasurably 
greater.     It  is  not  a  question  between  an  evil  and 


OUR   CIVIL    WAR.  437 

a  good,  but  between  an  evil  and  an  evil.  It  was  a 
great  deal  of  trouble  to  stop  in  the  enemy's  coun- 
try, take  Israel  by  tribes,  the  tribes  by  families, 
the  families  by  households,  the  household  man  by 
man,  till  Achan  was  taken.  It  was  a  sad  thing  to 
bring  Achan,  and  his  sons,  and  his  daughters,  and 
his  oxen,  and  his  asses,  and  his  sheep,  and  his  tent, 
and  all  that  he  had,  into  the  valley  of  Achor,  and 
stone  him  with  stones,  and  burn  him  with  fire ; 
but  it  was  a  greater  trouble,  and  a  sadder  thing,  to 
see  Israel  fleeing  before  their  enemies,  and  the 
hearts  of  the  people  becoming  as  water,  and  the 
face  of  the  Lord  turned  uj)on  them  in  anger.  It 
is  hard  to  lose  a  right  eye  ;  but  if  thy  right  eye 
offend  thee,  pluck  it  out,  and  cast  it  from  thee. 
It  is  not  only  no  loss,  it  is  profitable  for  thee  that 
one  of  thy  members  should  perish,  and  not  that 
thy  whole  body  should  be  cast  into  hell.  In  the 
extirpation  of  the  accursed  thing,  loyal  hearts 
may  be  alienated,  undeserved  indignation  may  be 
aroused,  unoffending  persons  may  suffer,  but  in 
the  face  of  great  events  "  the  individual  withers, 
and  the  world  is  more  and  more."  The  evil  will 
be  temporary,  the  good  everlasting.  So  far  as  we 
can,  we  will  help  our  brothers  bear  the  burden, 
but  the  burden  must  be  imposed.  For  their  sakes 
and  for  our  own,  for  the  nation's  sake  and  for  pos- 
terity's sake,  we  must  take  this  weight  on  our 
shoulders.  The  scenes  of  the  last  few  years,  cul- 
minating in  the  horrors   of  the  last  few  months, 


438  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

must  never  be  repeated.  It  would  be  unspeakable 
cowardice,  and  weakness,  and  selfishness,  for  us, 
with  our  experience  of  its  effects,  to  hand  this 
accursed  thing  down  to  trouble  future  Israels. 
No  opposition  from  any  quarter  must  be  allowed 
to  overbear  our  will  to  be  free.  All  manner  of 
opposition  from  those  whose  affections  or  whose 
selfishness  is  interested  must  be  expected,  and 
met,  and  put  aside.  Slavery  has  glorified  herself, 
and  lived  deliciously ;  and  it  is  natural  that  the 
kings  of  the  earth  who  have  committed  fornication 
and  lived  deliciously  with  her  shall  bewail  her, 
and  lament  for  her,  when  they  shall  see  the  smoke 
of  her  burning.  And  the  merchants  of  the  earth 
shall  weep  and  mourn  over  her ;  for  no  man 
buyeth  their  merchandise  any  more.  When  the 
fruits  that  her  soul  lusted  after  are  departed  from 
her,  and  all  things  which  were  dainty  and  goodly 
are  departed  from  her,  and  she  shall  find  them  no 
more  at  all,  it  is  not  strange  if  the  merchants  of 
these  things  which  were  made  rich  b}^  her  shall 
stand  afar  off,  for  the  fear  of  her  torment,  weeping 
and  wailing,  saying,  Alas,  alas  !  for  in  one  hour 
so  great  riches  has  come  to  naught.  And  every 
shipmaster,  and  as  many  as  trade  by  sea,  shall 
stand  afar  off,  and  cast  dust  on  their  heads,  and 
cry,  weeping  and  wailing,  Alas,  alas !  for  in  one 
hour  is  she  made  desolate.  But  rejoice  over  her, 
thou  heaven,  and  ye  holy  apostles  and  prophets ; 
for  God  hath  avenged  you  on  her. 


OUR   CIVIL  WAR.  439 

The  constitutionality  of  slavery  has  been  the 
stumbling-block  to  conscientious  and  practical 
minds.  Recognizing  fully  its  undesirableness  both 
in  a  moral  and  economical  point  of  view,  they 
have  felt  that  they  had  neither  the  right  nor 
the  power  to  lay  their  hands  upon  it.  The  only 
weapon  they,  could  bring  to  bear  against  it  was 
influence.  This  discrepancy  between  conscience 
and  the  Constitution  has  been  fruitful  of  conflicts 
between  well-disposed  citizens.  One  extreme  has 
gone  so  far  as  to  set  aside  the  Constitution  because 
it  recognized  slavery.  They  called  it  a  covenant 
with  death  and  an  agreement  with  hell.  The 
other  extreme  accepted  slavery  against  tlieir  own 
moral  sense,  because  it  was  found  in  the  Constitu- 
tion, and  they  considered  themselves  bound  by  that 
for  better,  for  worse.  Accepting  its  benefits,  they 
felt  constrained  to  accept  its  drawbacks.  I  must 
confess  that  the  Constitution  never  troubled  me  in 
the  least.  It  is  to  be  interpreted  either  by  the  let- 
ter or  by  the  spirit.  If  by  the  letter,  there  is  no 
recognition  of  slavery.  The  word  "  slave "  or 
^'  slavery  "  does  not  once  occur.  It  talks  of  "  per- 
sons held  to  service,"  &c.  It  says  such  persons 
"  shall  be  delivered  up  on  claim  of  the  party  to 
whom  such  service  or  labor  may  be  due."  Cer- 
tainly. By  all  means.  Common  honesty  requires 
it.  If  a  teacher  is  engaged  to  teach  a  year  in 
Mississippi,  and  falls  homesick,  and  is  so  weak  as 
to  run  home  instead  of  staying  there  and  braving 


440  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

it  out,  stern  justice  should  shut  its  eyes  to  his 
weakness  and  force  him  to  return  and  finish  his 
school.  If  a  Northern  blacksmith  refuses  to  put 
on  Southern  horses  the  shoes  which  Southern 
money  has  paid  for,  and  rushes  to  his  mother 
State  for  help,  let  her  not  shield  the  culprit,  but 
set  him  vi  et  armis  before  his  forge  and  anvil.  If 
a  clergyman  stealthily  and  feloniously  leave  his 
parish  before  his  time  is  out,  bearing  with  him 
both  salary  and  sermons,  O  carry  him  back  to 
old  Virginia,  and  make  him  preach  his  barrelful. 
Law  and  equity  alike  demand  it,  and  all  well-edu- 
cated people  will  say,  Amen !  But  what  service 
is  due  between  two  parties  whose  only  contract  is 
force  on  the  one  side  and  fear  on  the  other  ? 
Who  can  show  the  papers  wherein  God  made 
over  his  ownership  of  his  children  to  any  man  or 
men  ?  If  any  slave-hunter  can  show  to  the  slave- 
harborer  a  quitclaim  deed  from  God  of  Sambo 
or  Andy,  let  Sambo  and  Andy  be  given  up,  but 
not  till  then.  When  service  can  be  proved  to  be 
due,  let  service  be  exacted,  but  let  not  past  ser- 
vice exacted  be  the  proof  of  future  service  due. 
That  would  be  to  make  wickedness  self-genera- 
tive. That  would  make  the  fact  of  plunder  the 
justification  of  plunder.  That  would  turn  Christ's 
"  If  any  man  take  away  thy  coat,  let  him  have 
thy  cloak  also,"  into  "  If  thou  canst  take  away 
any  man's  coat,  it  establishes  thy  claim  to  his  cloak 
also,"  and  would  make  a  true  thief's  motto  of 
"  Whatever  is  is  right." 


OUR   CIVIL    WAR.  441 

If  it  is  the  spirit  of  the  Constitution  that  is  to 
be  observed,  we  are  all  in  dehghtful  harmony 
again.  The  spirit  of  the  Constitution  contem- 
plates the  speedy  removal  of  slavery,  not  its  in- 
crease or  perpetuity.  The  framers  of  the  Consti- 
tution did  not  design  to  cherish  it  into  vigor  and 
jiower,  but  to  break  its  fall.  The  safeguards  they 
threw  around  it  were  not  to  save  it,  but  to  make 
it  die  easy !  Those  who  are  its  firmest  support- 
ers admit  this.  The  so-called  Vice-President  of 
the  Southern  Confederacy  admits  that  the  fathers 
were  antislavery.  They  could  not  conceive  that 
a  nation  which  had  just  struck  the  fetters  from  its 
own  limbs  should  rivet  them  on  the  limbs  of  an- 
other nation.  They  could  not  conceive  that  lib- 
erty should  be  worsted  in  a  nation  which  had  just 
come  off  conqueror  in  its  name.  Their  fear  was 
lest  liberty  should  degenerate  into  license.  They 
saw  that  there  might  be  danger  lest,  in  their  enthu- 
siasm for  universal  liberty,  they  might  trample  on 
rights.  So  far  as  I  remember,  there  are  but  three 
allusions  to  slavery  in  the  Constitution.  None  of 
these  ordain  slavery.  All  three  are  rather  pro- 
tective. No  unprejudiced  reader  can,  I  think, 
deny  that  they  are  designed  as  breakwaters  against 
the  rapidly  and  powerfully  advancing  tide  of  anti- 
slavery.  The  framers  of  the  Constitution  evi- 
dently believed  they  saw  the  signs  of  slavery's 
speedy  overthrow.  They  seem,  indeed,  to  have 
feared  lest  it  should  be  overthrown  before  the 
19* 


442  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

country  could  be  disentangled  from  it,  and  so  botVi 
fall  together.  Slavery  must  fall,  but  they  would 
let  it  down  softly,  and  give  everybody  time  to 
stand  from  under.  The  Constitution  was  so 
framed  that  emancipation  would  make  not  even  a 
verbal  change  necessary.  The  spirit  of  the  Con- 
stitution is  essentially  antislavery. 

So  then  we  are  at  one  both  as  to  the  letter  and 
the  spirit,  though  we  get  there  in  a  roundabout 
way,  —  somewhat  as  light  travels  in  that  instru- 
ment by  which  itinerant  showmen  enable  the 
astonished  to  read  through  a  brick.  By  an  ar- 
rangement of  mirrors,  the  rays  of  light  are  so 
reflected  that  the  image  to  be  seen,  instead  of  go- 
ing straight  to  the  eye,  turns  four  angles,  but 
comes  right  side  up  at  last.  (Opticians  will  par- 
don a  confusion  of  popular  and  scientific  language 
in  this  illustration.  Most  of  my  readers  are  not 
opticians,  and  will  not  know  that  everything  is  not 
just  as  it  should  be.) 

If  this  should  seem  a  Jesuitical  and  tortuous 
mode  of  reasoning,  I  will  simply  say,  that,  although 
I  do  not  think  so,  I  will  not  press  the  argument, 
because  I  do  not  need  it.  For  slavery  neither 
by  name  nor  nature  is  ordained  in  the  Constitu- 
tion. It  is  recognized  as  a  fact,  but  it  is  not  estab- 
lished as  a  law.  Now  the  recognition  of  a  fact 
does  not  establish  a  law.  It  was  a  fact  that  there 
were  persons  in  the  country  at  the  time  who  were 
not  free,  and,  though  the  fact  could   be  glossed 


OUR   CIVIL    WAR.  443 

over,  It  could  not  be  entirely  ignored ;  but  its 
acknowledgment  neither  justifies  nor  perpetuates 
it.  To  say  that  a  man  is  not  free,  is  a  very  differ- 
ent thing  from  saying  that  he  shall  not  be  free. 

"  Slaves  for  want  of  legislation  are  not  quite 
like  slaves  by  law."  So  long  as  slavery  hid  Its 
noisome  head  in  the  Dismal  Swamps  of  the  South, 
I  will  admit  that  there  may  have  been  "  reason 
on  both  sides,"  but  the  secessionists  have  changed 
all  that.  Slavery,  under  their  lead,  has  abandoned 
its  stirring,  silent,  watchful  passivity,  and  struck 
openly.  Even  as  a  transient  thing,  the  fathers 
opposed  slavery,  but  with  an  opposition  which  its 
expected  speedy  death  made  feeble.  Supposing 
that  It  would  be  confined  to  the  very  limited  local- 
ity where  It  then  existed,  and  that  it  would  shortly 
perish  before  a  rapidly  advancing  energy,  educa- 
tion, and  Christianity,  they  contented  themselves 
with  rocking  the  cradle  of  its  declining  years  and 
preparing  for  it  decent  burial.  But  even  granting 
that  they  legislated  with  its  perpetuity  in  view, 
they  legislated  only  for  an  institution,  not  for  a 
mortal  foe.  Since  their  time,  slavery  has  reared 
its  huge  form  In  open  hostility.  It  has  striven  to 
strike  down  the  pillars  of  state,  unconscious  that 
Its  own  ruin  would  be  involved  therein.  It  has 
attempted  the  life  of  the  nation.  It  has  assaulted 
with  intent  to  kill.  It  Is  guilty  of  murder  in  the 
first  degree.  Whatever  constitutional  right  it  had 
to  live,  its  wicked  course  has  forfeited.     It  has  no 


444  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

more  Hen  upon  life  than  the  murderer.  Just  as 
well  might  he  lift  his  blood-stained  hands,  and 
plead  against  his  gallows  sentence  the  acknowl- 
edged right  of  all  men  to  life,  liberty,  and  the 
pursuit  of  happiness,  as  slavery  point  to  the  Con- 
stitution for  protection.  A  woman  promises  to 
obey  her  husband,  but  if  he  goes  mad  and  bids 
her  fling  herself  from  the  garret  window,  does  her 
marriage  vow  bind  her  to  do  it  ?  A  man  takes  a 
pet  kitten  to  please  a  departing  friend,  and  prom- 
ises to  cherish  it  all  his  life  as  a  memento.  But 
tlie  kitten  turns  out  to  be  a  tiger,  and  puts  the 
man's  life  and  the  lives  of  his  children  in  jeop- 
ardy ;  does  his  promise  bind  him  ?  The  slavery 
which  our  fathers  saw  was  a  playful,  if  rather 
snappish  kitten,  compared  to  the  ferocious  tiger 
into  which  the  accursed  thing  has  grown.  Now 
lifting  its  fiery  eyes  from  rending  our  children's 
flesh,  and  licking  its  bloody  chaps,  and  growling 
its  beastly  wrath,  shall  it  find  safety  in  the  Consti- 
tution ?  Heaven  forbid  !  Rather  take  the  beast, 
and  with  him  the  false  prophets  who  deceived 
them  that  had  the  mark  of  the  beast,  and  them 
that  worshipped  his  image,  and  cast  them  into  a 
bottomless  pit  of  reprobation,  abhorrence,  and  in- 
famy, in  whose  lowest  deep  a  lower  deep  still 
threatening  to  devour  them  opens  wide. 

I  am  sick  at  heart  when  I  hear  the  word  com- 
promise. The  rumors  which  have  sometimes  dark- 
ened the  air  seem  to  have  had  no  foundation  ;  yet, 


OUR    CIVIL   WAR.  445 

because  habit  becomes  a  second  nature,  I  cannot 
hear  them  without  a  thrill  of  dread.  I  could 
almost  wish  the  word  even  blotted  from  our  lan- 
guage. Doubtless  there  is  such  a  thing  as  a  just 
and  righteous  compromise,  —  a  relinquishment  of 
individual  benefits  for  the  general  good,  —  a  yield- 
hig  of  desires  for  the  sake  of  peace,  —  a  sacrifice 
of  prejudices,  tastes,  sentiments,  interests,  in  defer- 
ence to  the  weakness  of  others.  But  the  compro- 
mises with  which  Americans  are  most  familiar  are 
such  as  to  whelm  the  word  in  odium.  We  have 
not  so  much  compromised  <as  submitted.  We  have 
deferred  to  threats  till  we  have  earned  the  reputa- 
tion of  cowards.  We  have  incurred  the  contempt, 
even,  of  those  for  whose  sake  we  have  given  up 
our  principles.  We  have  sacrificed  everything  to 
peace,  and  —  Heaven  be  praised  !  —  we  have  not 
got  it.  Besides  being  cowards,  we  have  been  fools. 
We  have  been  deaf  to  the  voice  of  history,  which 
has  always  thundered  in  our  ears  that  no  nation 
ever  purchased  a  satisfactory  peace.  Rome  bought 
off  her  foes  with  gold.  We  have  bought  off  ours 
with  honor,  and  the  result  is  one.  Every  evil 
spirit  so  exorcised  has  returned,  bringing  with  him 
seven  other  spirits  more  wicked  than  himself.  But 
the  lesson  went  unlearned.  One  after  another  of 
our  great  men  has  passed  through  the  fire  to  Mo- 
loch, and  the  cry  is  still.  They  come.  Compromise 
is  the  rock  on  which  our  lives,  our  fortunes,  and 
our  sacred  honor  have  been  stranded,  and  men 


446  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

dare  to  speak  of  it  still.  We  have  seen  both  its 
wickedness  and  its  folly.  It  has  outraged  our 
moral  sense,  and  has  not  accomplished  anything ; 
yet  there  are  men  who  cling  to  it.  Firmness  in 
the  outset  might  have  prevented  the  evil,  and  cer- 
tainly could  not  have  made  it  any  worse  than  it  is 
now.  If,  when  slavery  threatened  disunion,  we 
had  but  stood  our  ground,  this  quarrel  might  never 
have  arisen,  or,  if  it  arose,  it  might  have  been 
speedily  allayed.  Every  time  we  have  staved  it 
off  by  compromises,  we  have  been  giving  it  ampler 

"  room  an(t  verge  enough, 
The  characters  of  hell  to  trace," 

With  every  respite,  the  accursed  thing  has  taken 
breath,  enlarged  its  lair,  sharpened  its  claws,  and 
waxed  fat.  With  every  day,  the  arena  of  the  con- 
test has  been  widened,  its  results  multiplied,  and 
its  intensity  and  bitterness  increased.  It  may  in- 
deed be,  that,  in  the  end,  this  postponement  may 
be  seen  to  have  resulted  in  good.  It  may  be  that 
God  will  overrule  the  severity  of  the  struggle  to 
the  welfare  of  the  combatants.  It  may  be  that, 
if  the  question  had  been  sooner  and  more  easily 
settled,  treason  would  not  have  been  so  utterly 
abolished  as  we  trust  it  now  will  be.  It  may  have 
been  allowed  to  attain  its  present  enormity,  that 
men  may  awake  fully  to  its  character  and  conse- 
quences, and  trample  it  under  foot  forever.  But, 
although  it  is  well  enough  for  us  to  console  our- 
selves with  this  reflection,  the  thing  being  done,  it 


OUR  CIVIL   WAR.  447 

is  no  justification  to  the  authors,  and  no  guide  for 
the  future.  It  is  always  right  to  make  the  best  of 
a  bad  position,  but  it  is  never  right  to  put  ourselves 
in  a  bad  position  because  we  can  make  the  best  of 
it.  Judas  betrayed  our  Saviour  to  the  cross,  and 
the  world  was  redeemed,  but  no  thanks  to  Judas. 
However  much  God  may  overrule  our  sins  to  carry 
on  his  own  wise  purposes,  we  are  not  justified  in 
continuing  in  our  sins.  Our  business  is  to  make 
straight  in  the  desert  a  highway  for  our  God,  —  to 
let  our  eyes  look  right  on,  and  our  eyelids  straight 
before  us.  If  God  can  use  evil  for  good,  how  much 
more  can  he  use  good  for  good  ! 

As  for  compromise,  it  is  not  to  be  so  much  as 
named  among  us.  Compromise !  Compromise 
with  traitors  I  Compromise  with  men  who  have 
incurred  the  unutterable  guilt  of  lifting  their  hand 
against  'their  own  mother  !  What  fellowship  hath 
righteousness  with  unrighteousness  ?  What  com- 
munion hath  light  with  darkness  ?  What  concord 
hath  Christ  with  Belial  ? 

It  is  said  that  these  vague  reports  are  sent  out  as 
"  feelers."  Let  them  be  feelers  !  Let  them  feel 
the  indignation  and  abhorrence  and  utter  loathing 
of  an  outraged  people,  from  whom  virtue  is  not  yet 
clean  gone  forever  ;  and,  when  they  have  felt  this 
long  enough  and  strong  enough,  let  them  draw 
back  into  their  dens  and  make  report. 

There  is  probably  less  danger  of  a  compromise 
now  than  there  will  be  after  the  war  shall   have 


448  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

been  finished.  The  indignity  offered  to  onr  flag 
roused  the  patriotism  and  chivalry  of  the  people, 
and  they  are  not  likely  to  sheathe  the  sword  till 
the  insult  is  avenged.  The  measure  of  their  long- 
suffering  is  the  measure  of  their  indignation.  I 
think  they  are  more  awake  to  the  importance  of 
crushing  this  rebellion  than  they  are  to  the  impor- 
tance of  eradicating  its  cause.  I  fear  that,  when 
the  war  is  over,  a  mistaken  magnanimity  towards 
the  vanquished,  an  eagerness  to  show  to  the  South 
that  we  are  not  their  enemies,  the  lack  of  a  full 
and  clear  comprehension  of  the  magnitude  of  the 
issues  involved  and  the  bearing  thereon  of  the  con- 
tinuance of  slavery,  will  induce  them  to  deal  with 
it  leniently,  and  give  it  a  new  lease  of  life.  I  fear 
that  slavery  now,  as  after  the  Revolutionary  war, 
dreading  immediate  destruction,  will  clamor  or  sue 
for  new  or  renewed  guaranties,  and  that  the  peo- 
ple, with  a  false  generosity,  will  grant  them,  and 
so  let  the  occasion  for  righting  themselves  pass  by. 
Slavery  will  lie  bleeding  and  helpless  at  their  feet, 
and  pity  for  a  fallen  foe  will  make  them  overlook 
the  enormity  of  his  crimes  and  the  malignity  of  his 
nature.  But  slavery,  in  little  or  in  great,  loyal  or 
rebellious,  tyrant  or  suppliant,  is  always  and  every- 
where accursed,  and  we  cannot  stand  till  we  take 
away  the  accursed  thing  from  among  us.  Cruel 
in  power,  subtle  in  weakness,  its  malign  purpose  is 
ever  the  same.  Whether  by  a  direct  or  a  winding 
way,  it  goes  to  one  mark.     It  preys  and  feeds  and 


OUR    CIVIL   WAR.  449 

gloats  on  the  souls  of  men.  Enslaved  and  enslaver 
are  alike  its  victims.  It  is  of  the  Devil,  and  the 
lusts  of  its  father  it  will  do.  Armed  to  the  teeth 
to  rob  us  of  our  birthright,  and  speaking  great, 
swelling  words  of  vanity,  it  is  no  more  dangerous 
than  fawning  at  our  feet  and  begging  for  guaran- 
ties. Guaranty !  Yes,  give  it  one  more.  Guar- 
antee to  it  a  swift  death  and  a  shameful  burial.  It 
certainly  seems  to  me  that  if,  after  our  experience, 
we  let  things  go  on  just  as  they  did  before,  we 
shall  richly  deserve  to  be  oppressed  and  despoiled 
evermore.  It  is  not  enough  to  restrict  slavery.  All 
our  restrictions  will  scarcely  bring  it  into  smaller 
compass  than  it  occupied  eighty  years  ago.  But 
from  that  acorn  sprang  to-day.  Experience  has 
proved  that  simple  restrictions  are  not  enough. 
We  must  not  only  bind  it  with  cords,  but  the  cords 
must  be  continually  tightened  to  the  death.  We 
should  not  only  adopt  measures  that  look  to  its 
extinction,  but  measures  that  are  to  bring  about 
its  extinction.  Never,  never  again,  must  our  be- 
loved land  receive  such  a  stab  as  that  from  which 
she  is  now  bleeding.  In  what  manner  her  redemp- 
tion is  to  be  accomplished  —  whether  by  a  skilful 
untwisting  or  a  sharp  and  sudden  cleaving  of  the 
Gordian  knot  —  we  are  neither  able  nor  called 
upon  yet  to  decide  ;  but  let  it  be  done.  It  is  no 
hostility  to  the  South  that  shall  rid  her  fair  borders 
of  the  accursed  thing,  nor  any  true  friendship  for 
the  South  that  shall  retain  it  there.     Fire,  and 

CO 


450  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

earthquake,  and  a  great  and  strong  wind,  may 
accompany  and  retard  its  removal,  but  they  are 
of  the  Devil,  and  will  pass  away.  And  after 
them  shall  come  the  still,  small  voice  of  the 
Lord,  to  approve  and  soothe  and  bless,  and  then 
shall  we  have  that  peace  whose  basis  is. right- 
eousness, and  whose  effect  is  quietness  and  assur- 
ance forever. 

So  far  I  had  written  weeks  ago.  Now,  as  I 
take  up  my  pen  once  more  on  this  sad  summer 
evening,  there  falls  upon  my  ear  the  inarticu- 
late roar  from  a  fearful  battle-field,  —  the  melan- 
choly moan  of  wounded  men  ;  and  the  shadow 
of  a  million  hearts  rests  heavily  on  mine.  Be 
pitiful,  O  God! 

But  the  clangor  of  battle,  the  deathful  embrace 
of  brothers,  the  wail  of  passion  and  pain  and  an- 
guish, are  the  works  and  words  of  the  accursed 
thing.  O  thou  accursed  thing  !  The  Lord  send 
upon  thee  cursing,  vexation,  and  rebuke  in  all 
that  thou  settest  thine  hand  unto  for  to  do,  until 
thou  be  destroyed,  and  until  thou  perish  quickly. 
The  Lord  make  the  pestilence  cleave  unto  thee, 
until  he  hath  consumed  thee  from  off  the  land. 
The  Lord  smite  thee  with  a  consumption,  and 
with  a  fever,  and  with  an  inflammation,  and  with 
an  extreme  burning,  and  with  the  sword,  and 
with  blasting,  and  with  mildew,  that  they  pursue 
thee  till  thou  perish.     The   Lord   cause  thee  to 


OUR  CIVIL  WAR.  451 

be  smitten  before  thine  enemies,  that  thou  go 
out  one  way  against  them,  and  flee  seven  ways 
before  them.  The  Lord  smite  thee  with  mad- 
ness, and  bhndness,  and  astonishment  of  heart, 
that  thou  grope  at  noonday,  and  be  only  op- 
pressed, and  spoiled  evermore,  and  no  man  shall 
save  thee. 

O  my  people !  I  call  heaven  and  earth  to  record 
this  day  against  you,  that  God  hath  set  before  you 
life  and  death,  blessing  and  cursing ;  therefore 
choose  life,  that  both  thou  and  thy  seed  may  live. 
That  thou  may  est  love  the  Lord  thy  God,  and  that 
thou  mayest  obey  his  voice,  and  that  thou  mayest 
cleave  unto  him,  (for  he  is  thy  life  and  the  length 
of  thy  days,)  that  thou  mayest  dwell  in  the  land 
which  the  Lord  sware  unto  thy  fathers  to  give 
them. 

Alas  !  sadder  than  any  moan  from  battle-field, 
sadder  than  any  mother's  lament,  comes  to  me  the 
voice  of  a  people  that  will  not  be  wise,  —  the  voice 
and  vote  of  a  people  that  thrusts  out  the  Negro 
from  its  borders,  ignores  his  rights,  his  claims,  his 
weakness,  and  says  to  the  Most  High  God,  "  Am 
I  my  brother's  keeper  ?  " 

What  we  have  most  to  fear  in  this  war  is  not 
iron  rams  nor  infernal  machines,  but  the  stupidity 
and  wickedness  of  our  own  selves.  It  is  this  which 
prolongs,  and  must  prolong,  the  war  more  than 
anything  which  the  rebels  can  bring  into  the  field, 
or  sail  or  sink  in  the  water.     Such  a  paragraph  as 


452  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

the  following,  from  the  New  York  Times,  is  full 
of  shot  and  shell :  — 

^'  A  prominent  gentleman,  and  a  Republican 
office-holder,  who  has  just  returned  from  Cincin- 
nati and  other  Western  points,  reports  a  general 
development  of  an  intense  anti- Abolition  senti- 
ment in  all  quarters  of  the  West,  since  the  Wen- 
dell Phillips  riot  in  Cincinnati.  This  feeling,  he 
reports,  is  based  on  the  popular  repugnance  to 
'  Negro  equality,'  toward  which  the  Abohtionists 
are  supposed  to  be  tending,  —  no  white  man  being 
so  poor  in  his  own  esteem  as  not  to  feel  him- 
self '  better  than  a  Nigger.'  " 

We  have  no  right  to  expect  peace,  we  should 
have  no  desire  for  peace,  so  long  as  such  a  frame 
of  mind  remains.  If  a  year  of  war  has  done  no 
more  for  lis  than  this,  if  a  year  of  war  leaves  us 
still  in  such  bonds  of  iniquity,  a  thirty-years'  war 
will  hardly  more  than  free  us,  and  I  pray  that  the 
war  may  never  cease  till  w^e  are  free.  I  should 
esteem  as  the  greatest  curse  wdth  which  this  nation 
could  be  accursed,  the  coming  of  a  peace  when 
there  is  no  peace.  We  welcomed  this  war  with 
a  solemn  joy,  because  we  believed  its  crimson 
hand  would  scatter  broadcast  over  our  country 
the  seeds  of  a  new^  hfe.  We  believed  that  the 
day  of  the  Lord  was  nigh,  when  he  would  either 
wrench  up  the  evil  or  wrench  up  the  nation. 
We  cannot  think  the  last.  We  cannot  yet  read 
a  handwriting;  on  the  wall,  "  God  hath  numbered 


OUR  CIVIL   WAR.  453 

thy  kingdom,  and  finished  it " ;  nor  can  we  be- 
Heve  that  he  has  shaken  this  nation  from  centre 
to  circumference  only  to  let  us  settle  on  our  lees 
once  more,  with  our  taste  remaining  in  us,  and 
our  scent  not  changed.  Surely  there  is  a  future 
for  us  only  waiting  our  eye  and  tough.  And  if 
in  the  nation  the  paltry  and  pitiful  idea  couched 
in  the  closing  paragraph  which  I  have  quoted 
still  obtains,  we  shall  have  no  peace  yet,  though 
Donelson  has  slain  his  thousands,  and  Pittsburg 
his  ten  thousands.  That  miserable  paganism 
must  be  scourged  out  of  us.  We  must  be 
driven  by  ten,  and  ten  times  ten  plagues,  if  need 
be,  to  recognize  that  God  hath  made  of  one 
blood  all  the  nations  of  the  earth.  The  hire  of 
our  laborers,  which  has  been  kept  back  by  fraud, 
crieth,  and  that  cry  has  entered  into  the  ears  of 
the  Lord  of  Sabaoth.  In  his  hand  there  is  a 
cup,  and  the  wine  is  red ;  and  we,  in  such  case, 
the  most  wicked  upon  the  face  of  the  earth,  shall 
wring  out  and  drink  the  dregs  thereof,  if  we 
shut  our  ears  to  that  exceeding  bitter  cry.  In 
the  thunders  of  the  cannonade  that  roll  from 
shore  to  shore,  I  hear  the  voice  of  the  Lord : 
"  Understand,  ye  brutish  among  the  people,  and 
ye  fools,  when  will  ye  be  wise  ?  "  Every  stal- 
wart form  that  sinks  down  upon  the  battle-field, 
or  wastes  away  in  the  hospital,  is  a  messenger 
from  God,  saying  unto  us,  "  Turn  ye,  turn  ye, 
for  why  will  ye  die  ?  "     Let    the  land  be   sown 


454  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

thicker  yet  with  graves.  Let  the  bolts  of  Di- 
vine wrath  descend  swift  and  ceaseless,  till 
through  all  the  land  there  shall  not  be  a  house 
in  which  there  is  not  one  dead,  rather  than  the 
hurt  of  the  daughter  of  my  people  should  be 
slightly  healed.  If  the  sword  should  be  sheathed 
before  slavery  receives  its  death-blow,  —  before 
its  vile  imacje  falls  face  downward  on  the  thresh- 
old,  —  before  our  respect  and  deference  and  ten- 
derness for  it  are  obliterated,  and  its  name  and 
memory  uprooted,  cast  out,  and  trodden  under 
foot  of  men,  —  I  should  believe  that  God  had 
.reserved  us  to  a  day  of  fiercer  wrath  and  more 
signal  destruction.  I  should  believe  that  he 
had  given  us  this  last  golden  opportunity  to  rid 
ourselves  of  an  incubus,  a  shame,  a  crime,  and 
that  we,  failing  to  embrace  it,  had  incurred  the 
terrible  doom,  "  He  is  joined  to  his  idols,  let  him 
alone." 

So  it  seems  to  me  that  we  are  not  yet  ready 
for  peace,  even  if  peace  were  ready  for  us.  We 
shall  not  be  ready  for  it  so  long  as  we  go 
a-whoring  after  caste,  and  color,  and  other  false 
gods.  The  war  has  not  yet  done  for  us  what 
we  hoped,  and  prayed,  and  worked  for  such  a 
war  to  do.  It  has  broken  up  our  idols,  but  it 
has  not  extirpated  idolatry  from  our  hearts.  If 
it  should  cease  to-day,  I  greatly  fear  that  we 
should  go  wallowing  in  the  mire  again  to-morrow. 
We  are   not   yet,  as  a   people,  brought   straight 


OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  455 

up  to  an  out-and-out  abhorrence  of*  slavery  for 
its  owii  sake.  We  have  not  yet  been  set  long 
enough  face  to  face  with  its  barbarism.  We 
have  not  yet  been  lashed  close  enough  cheek  to 
cheek  with  its  body  of  death.  Its  slime  and 
stench  have  not  gone  deep  enough  into  the  secret 
place  where  our  souls  abide,  and  turned  them 
sick  with  loathing.  We  execrate  the  derange- 
ment and  devastation  which  it  has  wrought  in  our 
own  homes,  but  we  are  not  half  awake  to  the 
horrible  crimes  which  it  has  committed  against 
the  wretched  race  that  has  so  long  ground  in  its 
prison-house  of  despair.  It  lifts  its  head  from 
bending  over  their  prostrate  forms,  lifts  its  hand 
dripping  with  our  brother's  blood,  and  turns  its 
glowering  gaze  on  us,  and  leaves  its  baleful  fin- 
ger-prints on  our  door-posts,  and  we  spring  up 
shuddering,  to  thrust  it  back  ;  but  a  simple  folk, 
whose  only  power  to  resist  was  patience  to  en- 
dure, a  mirthful  people,  made  pathetic  and  apa- 
thetic through  woe,  an  affectionate  people,  borne 
down,  and  held  down,  even,  by  their  affections, 
hold  out  chained  hands,  dumb  hands,  beseech- 
ingly to  us.  Not  only  because  we  will  not  be 
slaves,  but  because  they  shall  be  free,  should  our 
swords  leap  from  the  scabbard,  and  our  cannon 
belch  forth  death.  Down  into  the  valley  of  the 
shadow  where  they  have  walked  so  long,  that 
sword-shine  has  gleamed,  that  cannon-roar  has 
echoed,   and   carried    light    and    hope   for    their 


456  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

darkness  and  dole.  It  belongs  to  us  to  keep 
keen  blades  and  strong  arms  till  hope  has  be- 
come fruition.  It  is  not  enough  that  we  fight 
to  preserve  our  government.  We  must  fight  to 
purify  it.  We  should  fight  not  only  for  our 
own  lives,  but  for  the  lives  of  these  little  ones. 
We  must  not  only  break  the  heathen,  but  up- 
hold the  Christ.  God  will  certainly  not  forget 
these  poor  who  have  cried  day  and  night  unto 
him.  I  tell  you  that  he  will  avenge  them 
speedily,  and  if  he  does  not  avenge  them  by 
us,  he  will  avenge  them  on  us.  If  we  do  not 
fight  for  God,  we  shall  fight  against  him,  and  if 
haply  we  be  found  to  fight  against  God,  we  shall 
surely  be  on  the  losing  side. 

We  do  ill  when  we  merge  the  moral  aspects  of 
this  war  in  its  political  aspects.  We  must  act  po- 
litically, but  we  should  think  morally.  And  only 
when  our  politics  are  moral  can  they  be  truly  pol- 
itic. Good  morals  may  not  always  be  good  poli- 
tics, but  bad  morals  can  never  be.  We  cannot 
free  slaves  because  we  think  they  ought  to  be  free, 
but  we  can  think  they  ought  to  be  free.  We  can 
bring  our  opinions  up  abreast  of  our  powers,  and 
shoot  our  desires  and  designs  world-wide  beyond 
them.  We  can  press,  with  our  public  spirit,  and 
our  public  opinion,  and  our  private  deeds,  close  up 
behind  the  slowly  advancing  ranks  of  our  soldiers 
and  our  law-makers,  and  receive  with  open  hands 
the  panting  fugitives  who  came  to  them  slaves, 


OUR   CIVIL   WAR.  457 

and  whom  they  pass  over  to  us  men.  These  out- 
raged people  have  demands  upon  us,  though  they 
do  not  know  it.  They  are  grateful  to  us,  though 
we  only  discharge  a  late  duty.  We  can  and 
should  recognize  their  claims.  We  should  pay, 
not  give.  Liberty  is  their  due.  Education  is 
their  birthright.  Withheld,  it  has  not  been  for- 
feited. More  than  this,  we  should  urge  on  our 
soldiers  and  law-makers  to  greater  deeds.  Our 
thoughts  should  be  continually  in  advance  of  them, 
though  our  acts  can  only  follow  in  their  wake. 
Let  this  idle,  brutal,  and  madly  stupid  talk  of 
fanaticism,  and  abolition,  and  emancipation  cease. 
Emancipation  is  the  touchstone  of  this  nation. 
By  this  sign  shall  it  be  known  whether  we  work 
the  works  of  God  or  of  the  Devil.  The  govern- 
ment that  w^e  are  fighting  to  uphold  is  not  the  old 
hulk,  dismantled,  water-logged,  rolling,  helpless, 
becalmed,  on  slavery's  dead  sea  of  Sargossa,  but  a 
new,  strong,  oaken-ribbed,  iron-clad  man-of-war, 
with  her  steam  up,  her  portholes  open,  her  ban- 
ner streaming,  bearing  down  with  her  wdiole  fire, 
and  force,  and  speed,  and  strength,  upon  that 
mystery  of  iniquity ;  and  her  sealed  orders  are  to 
loose  the  bonds  of  the  oppressor,  and  to  let  the 
oppressed  go  free. 

What  do  these  men  want,  —  these  denouncers 
of  fanaticism  ?  That  slavery  should  be  let  alone  ? 
It  will  not  be  let  alone.  It  shall  not  be  let  alone. 
There  is  no  such  thing  written  in  the  book  of  fate. 

20 


458  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

All  the  agitation  that  has  been  deprecated  and 
denounced  for  the  last  thirty,  forty,  fifty  years  is 
but  a  ripple  in  a  wine-glass  compared  with  the 
rage  and  madness,  the  sweep  and  swirl  of  the 
heaving,  seething,  boiling  ocean-billows  that  such 
a  settlement  of  the  slave-question  would  stir  up. 
The  infernal  dragon  has  sown  his  teeth  in  every 
valley,  on  every  hill,  by  every  water-course  of  the 
North,  and  for  every  tooth  springs  up  a  man,  and 
every  man  a  Garrison.  For  every  spirit  laid  by 
such  exorcism  shall  come  seven  other  spirits  sev- 
enty times  more  rabid  with  antislavery  virus  than 
the  first.  Men  talk  about  saving  the  country  by 
putting  down  Abolitionism.  Have  they  been 
asleep  for  these  last  thirteen  months?  Do  they 
think  the  American  people  is  the  same  people  now 
that  it  was  then  ?  Do  they  think  the  old  spectre 
of  dissolution  is  going  to  haunt  us  again,  and  the 
old  farce  of  Union-saving  to  be  played  over  ? 
Are  they  going  to  raise  storms  about  the  ears  of 
Abolitionists,  as  in  the  good  old  times  ? 

Yet  there  is  danger  just  here.  Though  thou 
shouldst  bray  a  fool  in  a  mortar  among  wheat,  with 
a  pestle,  yet  will  not  his  foolishness  depart  from 
him.  Folly  that  is  persistent,  vigilant,  deter- 
mined, is  more  than  a  match  for  wisdom  that  is 
careless,  lazy,  and  diffusive.  Weary  of  conflict, 
longing  for  peace,  we  shall  be  very  apt  to  declare 
in  a  general  way  that  slavery  has  received  its 
death-blow  from  the  war,  and  so  relax  our  efforts 


OUR   CIVIL    WAR.  459 

and  let  things  work.  But  a  great  wrong  like 
slavery,  that  appeals  to  indolence,  and  avarice, 
and  lust,  and  pride,  and  every  evil  passion  and 
possibility  of  the  human  heart,  will  stand  a  good 
many  death-blows  without  dying.  It  has  received 
hard  knocks,  but  if  the  war  stops  now,  what  is 
there  to  prevent  slavery  from  girding  up  her  loins 
and  starting  afresh?  It  is  not  safe  to  let  things 
work  unless  you  have  put  them  in  good  working 
order.  It  spoils  the  fabric  and  ruins  the  ma- 
chinery. You  must  make  things  work  right,  or 
they  will  work  wrong. 

We  need  not  clamor  for  the  immediate  abolition 
of  slavery.  But  by  all  this  most  costly  blood  that 
we  have  poured  out  on  a  thrice  accursed  soil,  we 
have  a  right  to  demand  that  no  settlement  of  this 
controversy  shall  be  final,  which  does  not  provide 
security  for  the  future  as  well  as  indemnity  for  the 
past.  No  settlement  which  merely  holds  out  in- 
ducements to  abolition — which  merely  contem- 
plates the  possibilities  of  emancipation,  and  provides 
for  its  contingencies  —  is  enough.  Our  fathers 
settled  it  so,  and  here  we  are.  We  want  a  plan 
laid,  landmarks  set  up,  boundary-lines  defined,  and 
a  hand  on  the  wall,  visible  through  all  the  world, 
writing  before  the  doomed  gaze  of  slavery,  "  Thus 
far  shalt  thou  go,  and  no  farther  !  God  hath 
numbered  thy  kingdom,  and  finished  it !  "  We 
want  a  paved  highway  through  every  State,  from 
Maine  to  Texas,  on  which  Wendell  Phillips  and 


460  COUNTRY  LIVING. 

Lloyd  Garrison  and  Beecher  and  Sumner  and 
Lovejoy  may  go  secure,  lecturing,  as  they  go, 
to  all  who  choose  to  hear  them.  We  want  the 
scourging  of  women,  the  stealing  of  children,  the 
crushing  of  men,  the  stifling  of  free  speech,  all 
the  raving  and  ravening  of  the  mother  of  harlots 
and  abominations,  to  cease.  A  year  of  agony  that 
shall  have  done  this  is  a  year  of  the  right  hand 
of  the  Most  High.  A  thousand  years  that  shall 
have  failed  to  do  it  are  but  as  the  small  dust  of 
the  balance. 

What  matters  it  though  we  do  not  yet  know 
what  shall  be  done  with  these  freedmen  of  the 
republic.  The  best  way  to  find  out  what  future 
duty  will  be,  is  to  do  present  duty.  Present  duty 
is  to  free  the  slaves  as  fast  as  possible,  and  educate 
them  as  fast  as  they  are  free,  and  keep  our  eyes 
open  all  the  while.  If  we  do  not  do  this,  we  are 
more  guilty  than  the  slaveholders.  They  did  but 
accept  slavery  thrust  upon  them.  We  shall  reject 
liberty  thrust  upon  us.  God  provided  himself  a 
lamb  when  he  would  receive  sacrifice.  "  Who  shall 
roll  us  away  the  stone  from  the  door  of  the  sepul- 
chre ?  •'  asked  the  mournful  women,  for  the  stone 
was  very  great.  But  when  they  came  to  the  sep- 
ulchre, lo !  the  angel  of  the  Lord  had  already  de- 
scended from  heaven,  and  rolled  away  the  stone. 
So  let  us  go  with  sweet  spices,  not  to  embalm  a 
dead,  but  to  anoint  a  risen  Lord,  in  the  person 
of  these  his  little  ones.     Never  fear  but  that  we 


OUR   CIVIL   WAR. 


461 


shall  not  only  find  the  stone  rolled  back,  but  where 

we  looked  to  see  a  stark  corse  and  garments  of 

the  grave,  we  shall  stand  face  to  face  with 

an   angel,   whose   countenance   shall   be 

like   lightning,    and   his   raiment 

white  as  snow ;  and  so  this 

sepulchre  of  death  shall 

be  the  temple  of 

the  Lord  of 

life. 


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by   TiCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  11 


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by   TiCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  Ig 


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